#there was. one person who had the EXACT same taste as me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freshxsturniolo · 4 months ago

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4th July - chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary / warnings ; inspired by jake webbers 4th july party vid!! mentions of jake, johnnie, carrington and tara as well as the triplets. flirting, fluff.

PT2

"oh fuck, put me down" you laugh through a mouthful of beer, jake holding your legs on his shoulder as tara pressed down on the power button to the keg you were gripping hold of.

you hear the people around you laughing as you feel jake slowly lowering you to the ground and you whip your head back up, swolling down the beer. you wince as the liquid finally flushes through you and you feel two hands clap on your shoulders, the sound of your more recent friend carringtons voice in your ear.

"took that like a champ" he laughs, and you turn round to look at him with a grimace.

"that tastes like shit" you say, and he only laughs harder as he gives your shoulder a squeeze before walking off in the direction of the pool table.

you let your eyes adjust around you, the garden full of people you only half recognised, some you had never seen before in your life, before jake passes you an actual drink.

"here you go, m'lady" he chuckles, and you swat at his arm but take the drink gratefully.

"do you even know everyone here, jake?" you ask, looking around the garden again, and jake pulls you by the elbow closer to him as carrington now wants to take your place with the beer keg. a group of his friends already ready to hold his legs whilst tara stays put on the ground to be the one to assist him.

"no." jake admits, and you give him an eye and he shrugs. "some are johnnies friends. some carringtons. some i just invited to be nice." he laughs, and you can't help but laugh with him. he had always been so carefree.

johnnie comes bouncing over now, a giggle on his lips as he holds 3 jello shots in his hands.

"these were the last 3" he says, handing one to each you and jake.

"the last 3?!" you spit. "we spent hours making these last night. how many fucking people are here?" you laugh, but you all take the shots in one, grimacing as the vodka hits your mouth. you pass the empty container back to johnnie who hurries off to the throw them in the trash, at the same time someone you had never seen before catches jakes attention. he gives you elbow a quick rub of reassurance and you give him a smile, knowing you'll catch up with him later and set off to make yourself mingle with the people here.

but it only takes you a few steps before your eyes meet with the person you've been secretly waiting to arrive.. his blue eyes staring at you deeply.

you're drunk, you know you're drunk, the beer from the keg and the jello shot hitting you immediately after already copious amounts of alcohol you'd been drinking through the day, but you let your face stay calm as you give the blue eyed boy a small smile.

chris sturniolo is leaning against one of the fences in the garden, staring at you with a smile on his lips. his two brothers matt and nick are not too far away, but they're engrossed in a conversation with someone you don't recognise and are yet to notice you.

you take a deep sip from your cup and start the walk over to him. he's looking you up and down, which you can hardly expect anything less. you're wearing the exact same outfit as tara. little shorts and a bikini top, only yours is blue and hers is red, and you have to admit you'll likely a little too exposed. you feel his eyes on you, taking in every inch of you, but you appreciate the way he looks you straight in the eyes as you finally reach him.

"that was pretty impressive" he says, nodding over to the keg you'd just been drinking from. you smile.

"what can i say? im a girl of many talents." you laugh, taking another sip from your drink.

"that you are" he says, before he pushes himself off the fence and engulfs you in a hug.

there was something unspoken between you and chris. you had only met a handful of times, two of those being super brief when he was filming videos for jake and tara, yet somehow you could not keep away from him. you were constantly texting, after exchanging numbers over instagram dm after the first time you met, and you had continued to conversate with each other ever since. sometimes they were just flowing conversations, how are yous and what you up tos, sometimes they were deeper, about work and about the industry and about stress, but sometimes they were flirtatious, youre so prettys and wow you look in that recent instagram post.

you dont know what it was about chris sturniolo, but you enjoyed every second of him.

as you pulled away from your hug, you gave him a smile.

"do you not want a drink?" you ask, and he takes a peak into your cup.

"yeah, go on then." he smiles.

"what about these two?" you say, pointing to his brothers who had yet to acknowledge you yet. chris chuckles.

"matts driving and nicks got a meeting early tomorrow."

"too bad" you smile, and you grab his hand without even thinking, pulling him into the direction of the kitchen. you weave past what feels like hundreds of people stopping every now and then as chris daps up the odd person he knows, jake and johnnie being two of them, before you finally make it to the kitchen. you let go of his hand once you're there.

"okay" you say, leaning over to take a look at the ray of beers lined up.

"we got corona, we got some miller, we got some vodka,"

"corna will do" he says into your ear above the music and the bustle of people around you. you lean over and grab him one, passing it across to him before finding the bottle opener. he goes to take it off you but you pull your arm away, placing your hand right at the top of his on his bottle and staring straight at him, before you use the bottle opener to take off the lid. all the whilst your eyes on his.

he can't help but chuckle at you as he takes a sip, and you're about to say something when arms wrap around your neck.

"CHRIS" the voice shouts, and your hand instantly goes up to the arm you as you feel it as carrington.

"hey, man" chris nods, and you notice as he looks at both of your skin touching each other. you can't pretend it doesn't make you smile. so you play with him, you rub your hand against carringtons arm as he keeps it in place, but uses his free arm to clink drinks with chris.

"how are ya?" carrington says, and you take a sip of your beer before moving your head to look up at him. he looks down at you straight away. "what?" carrington says, and you laugh.

"nothing, carry on" and you divert back to chris.

"yeah, good man. real good." chris says.

"as you should be" carrington says, before he bends down so his cheek is touching yours.

"you need to come film a section for jakes video" carrington says, and you let out a groan. you had forgotten jake had meant to be filming the whole thing and you suddenly realise you hadn't seen him with his camera once.

"okay, okay" you say, and carrington finally moves his hand from around your neck and automatically grabs onto your hand. he's already striking up conversation with someone who's just past the three of you, so you use the short couple seconds to look towards chris.

"well" you start, holding up your drink to salute. "short and sweet, but duty calls. i'll catch you later?"

chris smiles, saluting you with his drink. "of course" and he turns around to walk off. you let out a sigh before giving carringtons hand a quick tug, which he turns around to look at you, then to the empty space where chris just was, and he nods in understandmant as he guides you back through the crowd, back out into the garden, and smack into the front of jakes camera.

it only takes a short few seconds before you're laughing, both jake and carrington with their arms around your neck as they sing along to the my chemical romance song blasting through the speakers. you're soon then joined by your best friend tara, who hands you all a fresh shot of tequila, and before you know it you're feeling lose again. dancing with your best friends, no care in the world if the camera is there or isnt.

unbeknown to you, chris is trying his hardest to distract him selves with conversations with this brothers and his friends at the party, but his always found yours. you singing with jake, dancing with tara and johnnie. he doesn't miss every second you get close to carrington either, and he starts to doubt all the conversations the two of you have had over the last few months. had he got the wrong end of the stick? where you just being friendly and he'd let his guard down a little?

after a another hour, you knew you were drunk. not just drunk, but the type of drunk where you go one of two ways. you either stay happy and giddy, or you fall down a pit of annoyance and you simply want to be left alone, but the music and the people surrounding you where only lifting your spirits as you took yourself to the kitchen to get another drink. theres people everywhere shouting your name as you walk through, and you smile and say hi to them, a few of your friends stopping you for photos, but when you finally reach to drinks table you let out a sigh of relief, reaching into your back pocket for you phone just to stand alone for a second.

you click onto instagram, already having being tagged in a few peoples instagram stories from photos you'd been taking throughout the day, a video on carringtons story of you upside down taking the keg, and you laugh as you reshare them all, before a text pings through.

chris : any chance we can properly say hi now?

you smirk at his message but whip your head around to look behind you, and see him standing against the kitchen door looking at you. you roll your head back and laugh, holding out your hand for him to come and join you. you notice the corna you had given him earlier is long gone and is now replaced by what looks like a standard beer, but his eyes are slightly red and you know he's had more than one or two.

"hi" you joke as he reaches you, taking your hand slightly as you let them slip to the side of you. he laughs, before looking towards all the drinks.

"are you sure you're okay to drink anymore?" he says, but you can tell he's being kind and not patronising.

you give him a side eye. "why, have you been watching me?"

his cheeks flush a little. "hard not to." he says, as he looks down at your body. now your cheeks flush, but you laugh it off as you reach over for a beer.

"im good. im a good mood." you say, letting go of his hand now and opening the bottle. "i could do with a sit down, for a few minutes though. are matt and nick still here?"

he smiles. "yeah, we're sat by the pool."

you groan in pleasure. "ugh, perfect. i can dip my feet in."

and you grab his hand again, pulling him out into the garden and smiling at the fresh air. your eyes scan the poolside, but chris steps infront of you slightly to guide the way. you hiccup slightly, and bring your hand to your mouth, and chris turns to look at you.

"sorry" you giggle, and chris look down at you.

"you're so cute" he says, and you notice that his eyes linger toward your lips for a second, but you shake it off as you move over to the pool, finally spotting eyes with his two brothers.

they each jump up when they see you, engulfing you in a hug, each telling you how incredible you look, before you all sit down by the pool again. theres a few others sat around in a circle, tara being one of them and she sticks her tongue out at you, which you return, before you sit closest to the pool, sighing as you deep feet into the cold water.

"that good?" you hear, opening your eyes to see chris has sat directly next to you, breaking up the circle completely. you were planning on twisting around ever so slightly to join in the conversation, but chris has completely blocked the way. you had to admit it made you feel a little giddy.

"so good. its SO hot" you say, facing back towards the pool.

"you could say that" he says, and you whip your head to give him a stare, which he just laughs at. you had not seen him for the last month. both of you so busy with work projects, and he had not long been on a few trips with his brother matt, and he had only grown more attractive to look at. his hair was a little long, possibly from travelling so much, he had a small bit of stubble that you'd never seen on him before in person, he's wearing a plain white tee and as you look down, black shorts. his legs were crossed but his knee was just inches away from your thigh, and you smile.

"what you smiling at?" he asks now, and you divert your eyes back to him as he takes a drink.

"we've never been alone together, did you know that?" you ask, and he raises his eyebrow, to which you roll your eyes. "i mean," you start. "we're always with people. someone else is always in on the conversation. i think todays the first day we've sat alone."

he nods as he looks behind him at his brothers and friends surrounding us, all engrossed in their own drunken little words, not even noticing that you and chris have distanced ourselves off slightly. you sit up slightly now, moving your hands away from the ground and grab your drink, taking a deep swig from it.

"its about time, dont you think?" chris asks.

"yeah. it is." you smile.

"i have to ask you something-" he starts, and you raise your eyebrow in anticipation, but you notice as his eyes scan the garden, his cheeks flushing slightly. "are you and-"

but he's cut off by a loud squeal. you each look up towards the noise as you see both carrington and jake holding tara in the air. one under her arms and the other her feet as they edge towards the pool. you both immediately let out a laugh as you watch the commotion, before the throw her into the pool. the water splashes up and towards you and chris, and you both move backwards to try and miss it, failing miserably as you both accidentally clash shoulders and get soaked through anyway.

"JAKE" you squeal, just in time for tara to emerge from under the water. it amazes you that her make up stays in the exact same position as she pushes her hair backwards, now completely soaked through.

"you're next" jake says, running towards you.

"NO" you squeal, but it's too late before jakes hands are on your waist. tara is laughing in the pool, egging jake on, and you can't help but laugh as jake tries his hardest to get you to stand up. when he finally does so, you let out a squeal and you can't help but automatically fly your hands out to chris, who laughs as he grabs hold of your hand.

"he can't save you" jake says, and before you know it you're flung in the air, hitting the water right next to tara. when you reemerge, you let out a splutter and wipe at your nose, letting your eyes adjust to the garden around you, but its only a matter of seconds before both jake and carrington canon ball in at either side of you, more screams erupting as you get soaked through once again.

"you're both INSUFFERABLE" you scream over the music, and you dodge carrington as he goes to fling his arms over your shoulder. he holds his hands to his heart, pretending to be hurt, but before you know it tara has flung herself onto him. you laugh at the two of them, jake dancing around trying to persuade others to get in the pool, and then you let your eyes divert to chris again. he's watching you with a smile, and you suddenly remember the conversation you were having.

you keep your eyes locked on him as you swim up to him, his legs still crossed at the edge of the pool, and you plant your arms on the ground to keep yourself afloat.

"what where you saying, before we got interrupted?" you ask, reaching out for your beer not to far away. chris watches you, his eyes scanning over your face, down towards your boobs pressed against the edge of the pool and you notice his adams apple bop up and down as he takes a deep swollow.

"nothing. its okay" he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"tell me" you whine, and he looks towards the pool. your eyes follow him as you see tara on carringtons back, bopping up and down the pool, and you look back to him.

"i just - i - is anything going on, between you and carrington?" he stutters, and it takes everything in you to not smile. one, at the ridiculousness of his questions, because no, there was absolutely nothing going on between you and carrington, but two, the fact he cared. he cared enough to ask. you look at him, and suddenly you feel even more attracted to him. maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you, but you pick up your hands and grab his.

"come in here" you say, and he widens his eyes.

"not a chance" he laughs.

"what you are scared of?"

"nothing"

"then get in" you say, and you let go of his hand, lay back, and push yourself off the wall of the pool and float backwards a little bit. when you look back up, he's staring at you intensely, but he still hasn't moved, so you shrug your shoulders and look towards carrington.

but that small little action makes something click inside of chris, and he's on his feet in an instant. you snap your head towards him, and you watch as he kicks off his shoes, socks following closely behind and a smile erupts over you face as you watch him. you hear nick and matt ask him what he's doing, but he ignores them as his t-shirt comes off next, and he gives you one last look before he dives in. theres a chorus of cheers around you as people notice another body in the pool, and a clap from carrington and jake as chris head reemerges from under the water. you laugh as you look at them, but when you look back to chris his eyes have never once left yours. his hair is wet through, in front of his eyes and already curling up, as he walks towards you. your heart is racing, theres something about this that feels different now. and when he finally reaches you he stops, pushing hair out of his eyes and rubbing at the water in his eyes.

when he's finished, you smile.

"is anything going on between me and carrington?" you repeat his words, and he looks at you intensely. and then you finally move. your hands around his neck immediately, your chest connecting with his as you move closer. this felt exciting, fireworks in your stomach. every single time you'd met up until now had been platonic. friends, who each time got more and more comfortable with each other. but the flirtatious texts had got more and more, the subtle comments on each other instagram posts had got more and more, and the alcohol surging through both of your bodies was giving a lot to answer for.

chris stares at you for a second, before a smile grows on his lips and he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you in closer than you already where, and his eyes dropped down to look at your lips.

"thats what i asked" he says, but his voice had gone deeper.

he looks into your eyes and you smirk, a gravity pulling you together as you slowly move your head closer towards him, hands coming up into his hair before he finally closes that gap, his lips crashing against yours. it feels electric. you hate to be cliche but it feels like this has been brewing for so long and its finally happened. you can taste the hot dog he just had on his lips, but you don't care, because you probably taste like beer, and you can feel as his chest rises against yours, his hands slowly but surely sliding down until they cup the underneath of your butt, and you use it as a sign to bring your legs and wrap them around his waist. he smiles into the kiss, and you use it as your queue to let out a chuckle and pull away. you can feel his thumbs under the water caress you, and his eyes looked dazed.

"does that answer your question?" you ask, and he chuckles again, leaning in to pop a quick peck on your lip.

"yeah, it does." he says.

your eyes scan the people around you, and you notice that not a soul has looked in your direction. its like the two of you are wrapped in your own little bubble. when you look back towards him, his eyes are only on you.

"i want to take you home, right now" he whispers.

"do it then" you say back, feeling a little giddy, but he smiles at you and his next words make your heart swell.

"im going to be a gentleman, because i genuinely like you. are you free one day this week, for dinner?"

you smile, your heart beating. you're sure he can feel it against his chest.

"are you asking me on a date, christopher sturniolo?"

he smiles. "i am."

"then yes," you lean in and kiss him once more. "im free everyday this week."

"tomorrow?" he asks. you laugh, throwing your head back.

"tomorrow is good”

"great" he says, and then he spins you around in a circle, holding onto your tightly as you grip onto him even tighter, a laughter escaping the both of you as the world spins by.

all you know on that moment, is that there was something special brewing between you and the blue eyed boy.

didn’t intend for this to have more than one part but i kinda feel this going into a little few part series?? lemme know!

#chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #tara yummy #jake webber #johnnie guilbert #carrington usa

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mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

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Push him

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x PR manager! Reader

Summary: When you became Avenger’s PR manager, you basically got your dream job, but one particular man, who had been staring at you every single time you were around, made you wonder whether it was because he hated or liked you.

Word count: 6.8K

Warnings: smut, bucky is obsessed with your short skirts, bucky is recovering, grumpy x sunshine, good friend natasha romanoff, office sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: ‼️so if you haven't seen my previous post, this is my new account. you may have seen this work on my old one (@inmyicyworld) but it was terminated and @support doesn't respond to me. please, follow and share this work. I'm going to reupload all of my old fanfics and hope to get your support ❤️

The work at the Avengers Tower wasn’t what you expected it to be. Tony Stark found you while you were working for another company a little bit more than a month ago. He was amazed by the way you were dealing with problems, by your charisma, and by your ability to find a common language with everyone. That’s how he knew that he had to have you as his partner and a part of the team.

The next day, you got a call directly from Tony, asking you to quit your job and accept his offer to work as Avenger’s PR manager. It would be an understatement to say that your jaw dropped to the floor when you heard your salary.

He said that you were totally worth it and that working with a group of such different people was not easy, but he was sure that you would be perfect at this. So on that exact day, you decided to take a risk and accept the challenge.

One thing that you hated about your previous job was the strict dress code. It was simply far from your style because you hated wearing the same basic and boring clothes every day. Tony said that it was the last thing that he cared about, and in that building, no one was obligated to wear certain clothes.

You knew that it was your lucky ticket.

He was actually really friendly and funny in person. You talked a lot during your first day while he was showing you all the necessary places in the tower: your office, his lab, common rooms and kitchens, avenger’s rooms, and even a beautiful garden on the roof. By the way, Tony allowed you to decorate your office however you wanted and gave you the number of the person who was responsible for this.

In short, it was perfect.

You were giddy with excitement on your first actual day of work. According to the plan, you had to meet with the Avengers and then arrange a few meetings for Tony.

It felt like you spent hours before your mirror deciding what to wear. Your whole room was a mess, and when you finally completed your look, which consisted of a short black skirt, beige long sleeve and a brown leather jacket on top, it was already time to go.

Everyone in the room heard you before they saw you because of the sound of your heels clicking on the wood floor.

“Don’t tell me that this is our PR manager, Stark.” Black Widow looked you up and down with a smirk on her face. “You look good, hun. Finally, someone with a taste in this boring group of losers, besides me and Wanda, of course.”

“Hi.” You nicely smiled, not ready to get a compliment as soon as you stepped into the room.

“Ohh, she’s also the sweet one.” Another red-headed woman, Wanda, said with a smile.

“You both, shut up.” Tony stood up from the armchair with a pack of chips in one hand and threw the other one over your shoulder. “Want some?” He asked you, showing the food, but you slightly shook your head. “Whatever… Now, you all listen here, this is Y/N; she’s our new PR manager. I stole her from someone because she’s incredibly smart and good at her job. Starting from this moment, she’s going to cover up your asses and organize all this stupid media stuff.” You blushed at his words but were still silent. “So, this is Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Bucky, and Th—wait, you already know them, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” You chuckled. “By the way, it’s nice to meet all of you. I hope we can work together, and I will have a chance to be helpful.” You took a look at all the Avengers in the room, and everyone looked at you with a smile except one person, whose eyes sent shivers down your spine.

When you looked at Bucky, you saw that his eyes were scanning your body with an unreadable expression, and you suddenly felt really weird in your short skirt. Your eyes met, and his famous death stare was really quite scary. He didn’t like you? You two were staring at each other for a few seconds, and you believe that the rest of the team noticed it because Steve loudly cleared his throat to get your attention.

He asked you a few questions about you, and Clint and Sam made a few jokes. Everything was fine as you all chatted for a little bit until Tony said that everyone should get ready for tomorrow’s mission, and you too have a lot to do.

You went back to your office only with the thought that, during this whole time, Bucky was staring at you like he wanted to burn a hole in your head.

Later that day, Bucky was sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of already-cold coffee while Steve was making himself dinner. It was quiet besides the sound of the cooking food, or at least Bucky didn’t listen to Steve’s words because he was too deep in his thoughts.

Well, he was mostly thinking about you and his mixed feelings about this interaction. As soon as you walked into the room, you had his whole attention. He couldn’t help but stare at your body, at your open legs, and at your smiley face. He knew that he sounded like a total creep and that it was inappropriate to look at other people this way, but he had never seen women dress this way. Was it normal right now? Was it new fashion trends or something? The only women that he had been interacting with for the past few years were women from Wakanda, and in the tower it was mostly Nat and Wanda, and he had never seen them dress like that. Or, at least, he just didn’t care enough to notice it.

When he saw you today, he felt something in him, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was something new, something that he had never experienced before, but his body became tense and his stomach tightened. It was weird.

“What, you're still trying to process her?” He was distracted from his thoughts by Sam, who came to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Bucky looked at him and furrowed his brows when he saw a shitty smirk.

“What the fuck are you talking about? And why are you smiling like an idiot?” Bucky growled.

“Because you’re thinking about Y/N.” His words caught Steve’s attention, and he came closer.

“That’s why you two were staring at each other like that?” Steve said this while drying his hands with a towel. “Do you like her? I think she seems cute.”

“No, I don’t. She just looks... different.”

“Oh, the old man got excited by the beautiful woman and her short skirt.” Sam’s smile got even wider as he started teasing Bucky. “You know, I wanted to ask her out, but I can take a step back if you like her.” He leaned on the table so he could get under Bucky’s skin even more.

“I do not like her.”

“So you’re okay if I ask her out? Maybe I should go to her office right now.” Sam pretended like he was really thinking about this.

“Sam...” Steve said.

“You both are just getting on my fucking nerves.” Bucky’s chair almost fell to the floor when he angrily stood up. “Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care about you or her.” With these words, he stormed out of the room, and Sam started to laugh out loud.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” Steve shook his head like a disappointed mother whose kids always fight.

“That was fun, and maybe it’ll push him to ask her out. She’s hot, but not my type; I’m just trying to help this idiot.”

You have been working with the Avengers for over a month now. This work was literally a dream from any angle. You were making a lot of money, doing the job that you really liked, and found a lot of close friends.

Almost everyone on the team was very close to you. Natasha and Wanda were particularly your best friends. Sam was the funniest person you’ve ever met, and he always found time to tease you or to make a compliment. Bruce and Clint were like your uncles—a little bit old and annoying, but always with a piece of advice for you. A few times, you and Steve met at the gym when you came to work too early, so he was happy to train with you. Who would’ve thought that Captain America himself would teach you how to throw a punch?

The only pain in your ass was Bucky Barnes. Well, to be fair, he didn’t do anything. You’re not even sure that you heard his voice. He was always just staring. Any time that you came to the room and he was there, you either saw him from the corner of your eyes or felt his burning gaze on your back.

To this day, you had no problems with your job. You organized a few interviews for Tony and Steve, talked to the newspapers and magazines, and held some meetings, but right now, sitting on your white chair, you felt weirdly nervous.

Bucky had to come here any minute to talk about a recent accident. Apparently, he almost knocked out someone on the street. All the press and news sources were taking advantage of the situation and using loud headlines to cast a shadow on Bucky and get more views. “The Winter Soldier is back?”. “The Winter Soldier almost killed an innocent man on the street.”

It has been the biggest topic on the internet for the past few hours. Most of the people were furious and wrote too many inappropriate and rude things. So you asked FRIDAY to call Bucky so you could know the whole situation and give comments to the press as soon as possible.

You started thinking about what you should do, or, to be more honest, how to behave around Bucky, because a few days ago two red-headed women that you now considered your best friends assured you that he is in love with you and just doesn't know what to do with it.

You told them everything about his weird actions—that he always looked at you, checked your clothes, and stayed silent. Natasha and Wanda just looked at each other with smirks on their faces.

“Why are you looking at each other like that?” You arched an eyebrow and crossed your hands across your chest.

“Please, don't tell me that you don't understand his behavior.” Natasha looked at you and sipped her coffee.

Well, I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew the reason.”

“Honey, he lust likes you and thinks that you’re hot. You remember that he’s actually an old man, right? Women from his time didn’t dress like that, and you look really sexy.” Wanda’s words made Nat nod her head as you looked weirdly at both of them.

“That’s bullshit, Wanda. This can’t be true. I'm sure that he just doesn’t like me and thinks that I look too revealing. Or he just hadn’t had a girlfriend in a long time.”

“Some time ago, I came to the kitchen at like 2 a.m. just in my lingerie because I thought everyone was asleep. Barnes was sitting there with a book, and you know what? He just said “Hi” and didn’t even look at me again while I was making a sandwich. And when he sees you, he just can’t take his eyes away and stares like an idiot.”

You stayed silent, thinking about the girls' words, because everything seemed pretty reasonable.

“And what should I do?”

“I don’t know, seduce him or something.” Natasha just casually said it, and your eyebrows flew to your hairline.

“Wait, do you like him?” Wanda asked you, and Natasha huffed like it was obvious.

“I mean… he’s beautiful. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, but Steve and Sam love him, and I trust their opinion.” You stopped trying to put together your thoughts. “To be honest, sometimes I think about the fact that he’s probably one of the hottest people I’ve ever seen. When we studied history at school, all the girls fell in love with America's Boy, and I with his best friend.”

“Then don’t wait. Just give him some hints, because I swear, for the ladies’ man, he’s too slow.” Natasha’s words made you smile. “Try to get closer to him; I don’t know, flash him with your boobs and look at the reaction. Push him a little bit. He’ll break.”

The loud knock on the door almost made you jump out of your chair.

“Come in.” You said this as you stood up and fixed your white dress and cardigan.

Bucky came probably to the lightest and most cozy room in the whole tower. A lot of white and pastel colors, comfy sofa and armchairs, and paintings on the wall. And in the middle of this was you—always perfectly looking, in heels, in a too-short dress, and with a smile on your face. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the smooth skin of your legs. It’s probably so soft...

“Em– Hi.” You awkwardly stood while his eyes were scanning your body. He didn’t answer; he just nodded. “So I think that we can sit there, it’s more comfortable.” You wave your hand at the sofa with a fluffy cover on it. “Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, soda?” Bucky just shook his head while he was trying to comfortably sit with a frown on his face.

You deeply inhaled while trying to be a professional. You didn’t know what was wrong with this man, but his behavior started to get on your nerves.

“Bucky, we can’t work together if you keep ignoring me. You can say if you don’t like something, because I don’t want to be on bad terms with anyone.” You sat across from him and crossed your legs.

“I don’t know what I should say.” His deep voice filled the room. Bucky took a pillow that was lying near him and started playing with the fringe. “I feel weird when I’m around you, and I don’t like it. I have thoughts that I shouldn’t have.” His eyes scanned your body once again, and you wondered if he was talking about what you thought.

“Can I do something to change it?”

“No.” He deeply inhaled. “It’s my own problem, and it’s not your job to try to fix it. Anyway, why am I here?”

“I think you know why. I need to ask you about the recent incident because I have a meeting with the press in less than an hour, and I have to give them a good reason why you did that. People didn’t take all that information too well.” You saw that Bucky sadly smiled and looked you directly in the eyes, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “So, tell me what’s happened.”

“You know that whatever you say won’t change people’s opinions about me, right? No one forgave me, and they’re still looking for a chance to call me a murderer.” He tried to hide behind a smile, but you saw everything written in his eyes. Bucky hurt himself with his own words.

“I understand how you feel about this whole situation, but we should address all those rumors because things might get worse.” You leaned on your knees with your hands, and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell on your boobs.

Push him a little bit. He’ll break.

You tried to hold back a smirk.

“Fuck.” He mumbled. “ I– um– I was walking from the coffee shop to the tower. It was another busy street with hundreds of people, but I still didn’t expect someone to touch me. That man jumped on my back or something, and my instincts just worked. I threw him over myself on the ground and put a hand on his throat. Turned out he wanted to take a picture. But I panicked because there are many people who want to take revenge and who might want to do it literally any second. I’m always ready for this.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

You felt deeply sorry for the man before you. Even if he was cold and acted weird around you, you knew that it was his way to protect himself. After everything he came through, you couldn’t blame him.

“Do you still go to the therapist?” You gently asked.

“Yes, two times a week.” Bucky nervously ran his right hand through his hair while still holding your pillow in the metal one.

“Okay, that’s good; I can work with this information.” You nodded and reached for your journal on the coffee table. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Bucky. I really appreciate it. I’ll do my best to convince people that it was not your fault, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Bucky stood up, carefully putting your pillow in its place, and left your office without another word, while you were sitting there with a smile.

Maybe the girls were right.

After that day, everything between you and Bucky became even weirder. Yes, he wasn’t totally silent now, and you’ve got a few “Hi”, but his stares felt different.

It was like you two were playing some kind of game. Since you knew that he didn’t actually hate you, you tried to do as Natasha and Wanda said—get his attention and push more. And God, you loved that game.

Almost every day you found an opportunity or excuse to see him in common rooms or in the corridors of the Tower, and you made sure that Bucky noticed you. You wore tighter clothes, walked right past him, and looked at him with a smile. You knew that it was working because a few times Bucky just suddenly left the room while he was mumbling something.

It was almost 8 p.m., but you were still working on schedule for the next week. There was some kind of charity event, and Tony required you to convince everyone to go there because more Avengers can attract more sponsors and money. As always, Bucky was the one who refused to go there. He simply sees no reason for him to be there, and he doesn’t want to be there alone because he knows that Captain America will be the biggest star, and such a social butterfly as Sam will leave him in a second.

You decided that it would be better to talk to Bucky in person, but you didn’t want to lose a chance to get his attention, so you went by yourself instead of asking FRIDAY.

You looked in the small mirror to check your makeup and hair and went straight to where you knew Bucky was spending his evening. As you walked in a dark room filled with only light from the TV, you saw Sam and Steve sitting on the couch and Bucky on the armchair near them. You quietly walk to him and just casually sit on the armrest. His eyebrows flew to his hairline, and you heard that the chewing from the boys stopped. Bucky had no choice but to put his metal arm on your lower back.

“I need you in my office. You have to talk about the next charity event. Could you please give me some of your time?” You quietly asked and lowered yourself closer to him. Bucky was just staring at you for a few seconds, but then slightly nodded.

Bucky followed you to your office, not without getting smirks from the boys,and then stood near your table with his hands in his pockets.

“Don’t you want to sit?” You said and stepped closer to him.

“No.”

“Um– okay.” You took the papers from your table and stood in front of Bucky. “So, you know that there is going to be a charity event, and I’m responsible for getting all the Avengers there, and you are one of them.”

“I’m not going, I already told Tony.” He just shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not needed there. I’m not an actual hero, people have no interest in me, especially when there will be Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor, you know? Plus, I have no interest in sitting alone the whole night.” You saw that Bucky tried to be casual about it, but he just put salt on his own wound.

“Don’t say that, Bucky. There are people who want to see you there, you have a lot of fans. You know, I’m going there too, so if you don't mind, we can–”

“What game are you playing with me?” He interrupted you. Bucky straightened his shoulders, which made him look even bigger, and started moving closer to you, putting you in a trap between him and your desk.

“W– what do you mean?” You couldn't control your body as you started to tremble a little bit from the power that this man had. As soon as you bumped into the table, his hands landed on both sides of you, and his face was right in front of yours.

“Don’t act clueless, Y/N. I see what you’re doing.” He stopped for a second, studying your face. “You know, I tried to convince myself that you do all of this by accident, but now I’m sure that you’re just playing your little game. Am I right, doll?” You two were staring at each other, and you felt almost nauseous from different emotions.

He was so fucking beautiful up close. Piercing blue eyes, pink lips, and light stubble You know why many women thought that James Barnes was charming. If he had more confidence, he would’ve been unstoppable.

Your eyes slowly shifted lower to his arms and chest as you remained silent. He was big, with well-trained muscles that were seen through the tight black t-shirt. Both arms were stretched near you, so you had a really good opportunity to look at the smooth tanned skin and beautiful dark vibranium. You felt how your lower stomach tightened just from the thought of getting those pretty hands on your body…

You were pulled out of your head by a sudden movement of Bucky’s hand, which gripped your face and pushed your lips together. He was obviously dominating in the kiss, as if he were desperate to taste you. The tip of his tongue brushed over your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily gave him. The moan came out of you when Bucky moved away and looked you in the eyes, still holding your face.

“This whole fucking time I thought that I was a creep for looking at you, but now I know that you did everything on purpose, doll.” His eyes moved between your eyes and mouth. “All these short skirts and dresses that almost showed me everything underneath it, all these innocent smiles and looks... You did it to tease me?”

“Not at first...” You mumbled. “But you were acting so weird, and girls said that you liked me and just didn’t know what to do. I wanted to find out whether it was true or not.”

“Fuck, if I knew earlier that this was your plan, I would’ve bent you over the nearest surface, baby.” Bucky moved a little closer, brushing his lips over yours. “Do you know how fucking hot and gorgeous you are? I haven’t felt that way in many, many years. Just wanna kiss you and make you mine.”

“And what’s stopping you from this, Sargent?” You asked with a smile and moved your hand to the back of his neck to gently play with the baby hairs.

“You’re gonna be my death, doll face.” He mumbled before leaning closer and kissing you again.

This time, you started to touch each other's bodies. Bucky’s warm and cold hands landed on your thighs, playing with the hem of the skirt and rubbing your soft skin after he lifted you up a little bit and helped you sit on the table, staying in between your legs. Your own hands were moving up and down his broad chest, discovering all of his muscles.

“Bucky…” You whined into the kiss when his finger brushed against the edge of your already wet panties.

“Tell me.” Bucky moved away from your swollen lips and left a path of kisses down your neck. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” He sucked a sensitive spot under your ear, which made you moan.

“I don’t know. Just do anything, please.” You both breathed heavily. You felt like you were too hot; your lower stomach ached, and your underwear was soaking wet. Bucky was looking at you with such lust in his eyes that you wanted him to destroy you.

“Lay back.” He ordered you as one of his hands went higher under your skirt and slid your black lace panties down your legs. You didn’t miss how Bucky shoved him into the back pocket of his jeans with a smirk on his face.

You quickly followed his instructions and just threw all the papers from our table on the floor. You’ll regret it later, but now you don't care. The sudden move of Bucky's metal arm grabbed and pulled your shirt, and all the buttons scattered on the floor, making you gasp in disbelief.

“Bucky! It was expensive.”

“Sorry, I’ll buy you whatever you want, I promise. But now I need to see you all.” He growled and fell to his knees before you. “Fuck, doll, such a pretty pussy. I’m gonna make a mess with her.”

Bucky’s hands grabbed both of your legs and threw them over his shoulders. He dragged your skirt higher, not wanting to take it off of you. His head fell on your right legs as he left a few kisses on your sensitive skin.

“Bucky please! Don’t tease me!” You desperately whined.

“I need a moment to appreciate both of you. I haven’t done it since the 40's, you know that?”

You wanted to say something, but his mouth on your most delicate part of your body left you speechless and made you grab his hair. Bucky’s tongue was gentle at first, just to get a taste of you and tease you a little bit. His tongue started to play with your clit, circling it and applying different pressures to find out what made your body twitch. It looked like he was enjoying it too; you felt deep grunts escaping his mouth as he was trying to catch every drop that came out of you.

Your loud moans filled the room as Bucky found the perfect place and made motions that made you see stars. A hand in his hair tightened even more when you felt one of his fingers at your entrance.

“M-hm, so wet and tight for me.” He pulled away a little bit, looking at how his two fingers came in and out of you, all shiny with your juices. His darkened eyes were firmly glued to your pussy, which was trying to get more, and his mouth opened a little bit at the sight. “Taking my fingers like a good girl.” Bucky attacked you with his mouth again. This time he was licking your folds, mixing his saliva with your juices. When the feeling of his nose touching your bundle of nerves came through your whole body, you gripped Bucky’s dark locks even harder, particularly trying to ride his face, and he had to put his metal hand on your hips so you wouldn’t move.

Your body tensed when he curled his fingers right on your g-spot, sucking your clit like a hungry man.

“Bucky—fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, please don’t stop!” You whined with tears running down your face.

A few more movements of his magical mouth, and you fell over the edge. Your legs tightened around his head, tingles went all over your body, and the loudest moan mixed with Bucky’s name came out of you as you were riding on the wave of your orgasm.

Bucky didn’t stop, though.

He made sure to lick every drop that came out of you, to the point that you had to beg him to stop because you were too sensitive.

“That was—“ You were trying to catch a breath. “That was the best orgasm I've ever had, oh my god. If you did it for the first time in like seventy years, I can’t imagine what you can do with practice.”

Bucky dragged you up by your neck, so you would be at the same level with him. His hand moved your hips closer to the edge of the table, and you felt how hard he was through those jeans.

“I can practice whenever you’ll allow me, doll.” He put his warm hand on your face to kiss you. The taste of your own release on his tongue made you moan.

“Need you inside of me, please.” Your hands automatically started to pull up his shirt, but he stopped you.

“We don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “Why wouldn’t I want to take your shirt off?”

“You know, my arm and scars...”

“Do you really think that I care about it?” You left a few kisses on his cheek. “I think that your arm is hot, by the way, and I want to feel your skin on mine, Sarge.” It was enough for Bucky to pull off his shirt and stay before you half-naked.

Your hands moved to trace every muscle, every birthmark, and every scar on his chest, and you felt that this moment was so intimate, especially because of Bucky’s stare. He looked at you with such adoration and softness that you wanted to melt.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He mumbled and kissed you with even more passion.

Bucky ripped off the rest of your shirt and quickly took off your matching black bra, gripping your breasts with both hands and taking your left nipple in his hot mouth.

You dug nails into Bucky’s back as he was sucking and licking your nipples, leaving them wet in the cold air. It felt good. So fucking good—his mouth was truly amazing. But the emptiness inside of you was almost painful, and you were clenching around nothing.

“Bucky! Sarge, please, I need you.” You almost cried and dragged his head by the hair back to your mouth.

“Baby, baby, wait– “ His hot breath was touching your lips, but he stopped your hands, which were unbuckling his belt. “Baby, I don’t have a condom. Fuck, do you have one?”

“We don’t have to use it... I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” Your legs wrapped tighter around Bucky’s waist and put him closer to your naked core. He swore that he could feel your heat through his jeans and boxers.

“Fuck, I love twenty-first century... I’m clean too, can’t even catch a disease with this serum shit.”

His words were like a green light to you. You didn’t want to wait even a second more. So you just took off his pants with such speed and impatience that it made Bucky chuckle. With the last movement, all of his clothes were on the floor, and you sat on your table, frozen because of the sight before you.

Bucky’s thick and perfectly long dick was the best fucking thing that you’ve ever seen. Pink and a little bit curled to his abdomen. Your mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. Or how well he’ll stretch you out. You didn’t even notice how your mouth opened a little bit, and you unconsciously wrapped your hand around him.

“You’re gonna destroy me, Bucky.” You mumbled, to which you heard only a deep chuckle. Your eyes moved back to Bucky’s smiley face.

“I hope so.”

Two different hands landed on your thighs again, spreading and lifting them up. You both looked down at where his cock almost touched your bare folds, and the first contact made you moan loudly. Bucky took the base of his cock, giving himself a few pumps, and moved the tip up and down your pussy, moving easily because of the mixture of your juices.

You grabbed his forearm and whined at the action.

“Ready, doll?” He was trying to be tough and strong, but you saw how he nervously licked his lips, the tremble of his flesh hand, and the tension in his abdomen. But you still vigorously nodded.

It was different from everything you’ve ever experienced. He was big but tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt you. He only pushed a few inches, but you already wanted to cry from all the feelings inside of you. Pain mixed with extreme pleasure.

Bucky was trying so hard to control his motions and go slow, but God, it wasn’t easy. From the first touch of his cock, it felt like he had gone to heaven. He knew that sex was good, he remembers it, but the feeling of you and your warm body that so gracefully greeted him inside made him feral. Bucky felt such a need to kiss you that it was almost painful, especially when your swollen lips were a few inches away from his.

He leaned in closer to your lips, but it made him slip deeper into you, which made you both loudly moan into each other's mouths.

“Fuck– doll, you’re so warm and tight, oh my god.” Bucky mumbled as the grip on your hips became harder. It’ll probably leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

The feeling of him inside of you was overwhelming. He was so deep and stretched you just the way that you wanted, and you almost cried from pleasure.

“Please, Bucky, please move!”

His hips slightly moved once, and it felt like his mood instantly changed. You were suddenly pushed back on your table, and your legs, still in heels, were thrown on Bucky’s shoulders. His metal hand stayed on your thigh, and the other one fell on your stomach to push your skirt higher on your waist.

“All dressed up for me, baby.” He started slowly moving, burying his cock deep inside, and then leaving only the tip to tease you. “You know how long I wanted to do that, huh? Bend you over and just fuck the shit out of you until you can’t say anything except for my name.”

“Bucky– Sarge, please go faster. Just fuck me, do whatever you want.” You were desperate, yes. But you couldn't help but beg, because you really needed him to keep his promise and fuck the shit out of you.

You reached for his hand on your stomach and interlaced your fingers together.

“If you keep calling me that, I won’t last too long, doll.” His thrusts became harder and faster as your body moved up and down on your table.

Bucky was looking at your drunk-looking face with a slightly open mouth because you couldn’t keep your moans quiet. Your hair was deshiveled, your skin glimmered with sweat, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“So beautiful, baby.” Bucky murmured, fucking you harder. The room was filled with loud noises from slapping skin and moans. “You love it when I talk to you like that, huh? Want me to tell you what a good girl you are?” His words definitely did something to you, and you unconsciously tightened around him. “Almost choking my cock, baby, fu-u-ck.”

“Mhm, Sargent, I’m so full of you.” You couldn’t see straight as the tip of his head pressed at the perfect spot with every thrust, it was too much and not enough at the same time.

The wet kisses on the inner side of your thigh sent shivers down your whole body when Bucky started to suck tender skin. His rough movement didn’t stop for a moment, and you knew that your orgasm was getting closer. The warm feeling in your belly slowly became bigger. It was hard for you to cum from sex, but Bucky did it so fast and without even touching your clit.

“C’mon, doll face. I feel ‘ya. Feel how your perfect little pussy is squeezing me. Cum with me, baby, cum on my cock.” His movements were still rough and confident, but you felt the slightest change in the way he was looking at you, how his body trembled a little bit, and the prettiest quiet noises escaped his mouth as Bucky was coming to his own end.

You were completely lost in your pleasure, with strong arms on your body and Bucky’s hard cock that was completely destroying you, so when fingers on your clit started to move in circles, your body slightly jolted up from your table.

“Bucky, Bucky, please—ohmygod, I’m coming!” You cried out loud and grabbed the hard wood under your arms.

“O-oh, fuck, doll, cum with me, please. Yes, squeeze my cock harder, make a mess. ‘M gonna cum.” With the last few pushes of his dick inside of you and movements of the fingers, you both fell from your heights, and the room filled with loud moans of pleasure. The feeling of his hot seed on your walls almost made you faint.

Bucky fell down on your body as your leg slipped from his shoulder. Two strong arms wrapped around you, and Bucky’s face nuzzled into your neck. You don’t know how long you two stayed silent, trying to catch a breath, while your hands gently rubbed Bucky’s back.

When he finally lifted himself up with a metal arm near your face on the table, the look in his eyes sent millions of butterflies to your stomach.

“I don’t even know what to say…” He chuckled and cupped your face with his right hand. “You look so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

“Even when my makeup, my hair, and my clothes are completely destroyed?” You playfully arched an eyebrow and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on your hot skin.

“Well, I did it, and I’m satisfied with it. You still look so hot, especially with my dick still inside of you.”

“Bucky!”

“Sorry, sorry. But I’m serious, though. Will you let me take you on a date? Maybe yesterday for lunch or for dinner after work?” His eyes had this little bit of doubt, and you couldn’t stop your wide smile because he was really thinking that you would say “no” after that.

“I will be glad to go out with you, Buck.” You dragged his face closer and gave him the sweetest kiss you could.

Bucky moved away, gently slipping out of you, and you hissed at the empty feeling. He helped you stand up on your shaking legs and handed you your clothes.

“Fuck, you completely destroyed my clothes.” You said as you were standing in front of the mirror. “How will I go home?”

“You can stay in my room.” Bucky came closer to you and helped you make your blouse look more presentable, even without buttons.

“Really?”

“Of course, doll. Just hold your shirt in case we bump into someone in the corridor, but I think everyone is already in their rooms.” Bucky finished dressing up, and you saw your underwear sticking out of his pocket.

“Don’t you want to give me my panties?”

“Na-ah, you’ll have to walk with me dripping out of you.” He gave you a cocky smile and turned all the lights off before wrapping his arm around you and leading you into the hall.

It was completely empty, but the second that you stepped out of the elevator, you saw Bucky’s best friends looking at you. All of you were looking at each other for a few seconds before Sam started hysterically laughing.

“You owe me fifty bucks, idiot!” He said to Steve, who was as red as a tomato. “Good job, Buckaroo, but I really thought that we were gonna ask her on a date first.”

“Fuck off, Willson.” Bucky growled, protectively stepping forward to protect you from their looks.

“Okay, okay, relax, no one’s touching your girl.” He said with a cocky smile on his face. “Let’s go, Steve. You’re too innocent to look at things like this.” Sam took his friend and led him in another direction.

“Asshole.” Bucky growled.

“Everything is okay, Buck, let’s go.” You stepped closer to his room, but he was still standing in his place. “I have to take a shower. Will you come with me, or will you stand here the whole night?” You smirked.

It was everything he needed to finally get closer to you, scoop you into his arms, and carry you into his room to the sound of laughter, which soon turned into moans.

4K notes · View notes

bayjaruchel · 1 year ago

Text

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

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Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation.

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation.

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness.

Yeah. Heads, plural.

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself.

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis.

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks.

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both.

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste."

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement."

"Expensive wine?"

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it."

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?"

He snorts. "Too classy."

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights.

"Cheap beer it is, then."

Clapton's grin is back.

"Unfortunately."

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks?

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in.

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in?

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse.

"Four minutes," he echoes.

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead.

"Yeah."

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet.

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time."

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows— you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left.

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?"

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up.

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check."

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?"

Clapton raises his eyebrows again.

There's a shift in the air.

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though.

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do.

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it.

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?"

He definitely already knows the answer to that question.

"Yeah, you don't."

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor—

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat.

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half—

"Just do it," you breathe.

And he does.

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient.

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower—

There's a loud series of knocks at the door.

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips— but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet.

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open.

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s.

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper:

"Wanna go upstairs?"

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree.

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles.

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times.

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him.

"You think?"

He grins. "Sure do."

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in.

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough.

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted.

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—"

"Go ahead," you interrupt.

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time.

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt.

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles.

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops.

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?"

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna."

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever.

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?"

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?"

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry."

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that."

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements.

"In your—?"

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you.

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?"

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright."

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off.

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips.

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do —

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —"

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time.

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but—

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter:

"Don't hold back."

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard.

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — "

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this.

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— "

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"

"Fuck— " You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom— but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes—

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato.

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh.

He mimics it, and you glance down at him.

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not.

"We should get cleaned up or something."

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something."

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine."

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states.

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway.

It's silent, before he interjects:

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?"

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection.

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want."

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … "

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds.

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you."

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause.

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind.

"You wanna get out of here?"

He beams.

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #clapton davis imagines #clapton davis smut #josh hutcherson x reader

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glitteryinknotes · 1 year ago

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There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

#astarion #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion analysis #astarion ancunin

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servantofthefates · 4 months ago

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How to Summon Your Guardian

Neopagans call them guides. Catholics call them angels. Some witches call them fae. Different names in different faiths, yet the same being. The one who walks beside you.

The First Call

My elders say our guardian is close to us when we are children. Because that is when our soul contract with them is fresh and new. As we grow older, we push them away because we have forgotten they exist. They still check on us now and then, but they no longer stay. To call them back to you, do this:

Wherever you are in the world, no matter what time it is, begin by sitting still and closing your eyes. Take deep breaths until you feel isolated from the world around you. Using these exact words, or simply as a guide, speak out loud or in your mind:

“I now recall. You are the good luck that comes to me unexpectedly. You are the bad luck that saves me from worse luck. You are the whisper that tells me where to go. You are the push that shoves me to the right path. You are the caress that heals my aches. You are the pain that strengthens my resolve. You are the companion I had forgotten about. But now I recall. And back to me, I now thee call.”

Make the words true, by recalling the times when an invisible force seems to have saved you. When something hopeless suddenly worked out for you. When some suffering turned out to have been good for you. These are the acts of your guardian.

Then open your eyes.

The Vision

In the next minutes, hours or days — it is not the same for us all… wait for a response. A dream. A sensation. An encounter. Some sign that your guardian has heard your call and has returned at your side.

This will be different for everyone. But when it comes, it will be undeniable. Because whatever sign is sent will be deeply personal. A symbol that meant something to you in childhood. A song you used to love ages ago. Mine was a hypnopompic hallucination.

More often than not, it will also reveal the appearance of your guardian. A glimpse of their face. The sound of their name. A revelation of who they are. And whoever you see or hear will not be surprising to you. After all, you have known them before. Deep down, your soul still remembers.

Wait for this vision before you proceed. If it never comes, repeat The First Call. This time, more solemnly.

The Gift

Give your guardian an offering. An acknowledgment of your vision and a reaffirmation of your intention to walk with them once more.

Whatever you give, it needs to have value — material, sentimental or both. My elders say it is better to offer something you already own and hold dear, instead of acquiring something new and shiny, whose worth could be artificial.

Leave this offering somewhere special for your guardian. If you have a sacred space, an altar or a shrine… leave it there. If not, it could be a dedicated space in your bookshelf, in your dresser or on your desk.

In your own words, tell your guardian this gift is for them.

The Sharing

You want your guardian to share their life with you once more. So you too must share yours with them. This means leaving out for them a piece of something you enjoy every now and then.

Treated yourself to a bar of chocolate? Give them a piece. Put it beside their gift. Dispose of it the day after. Bought a bottle of perfume? Spray some in the air for them to smell. Received a bottle of wine? Pour some in a glass for them to taste.

Make this second nature to you. Share with your guardian your little happinesses. Not as a sacrifice, and not even as an offering. Think of it as having a friend that your eyes cannot see but your soul can sense. This is not a deal, an exchange or a spell. Just an act of decency and kindness.

The Incantation

In times when you need help, or in moments when you feel scared… make sure you have an incantation at the ready to tell your guardian you need them. If you are religious, think of it as a prayer. If you are pragmatic, think of it as dialing emergency.

The words have to be your own. The length needs to feel comfortable to you. The rhythm has to sound meaningful to your ears. Mine is based on a prayer I learned in Catholic school as a child:

“Lucifer… my inspiration, my angel, my friend… Be at my side, to light and guide, to rule and guard. Amen.”

#Paganism #Witch tips #Witchblr #Lucifer #servantofthefates #All About Spells #All About Paganism

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cubffections · 20 days ago

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( ꣑꣒ ) 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 — al haitham.

𑄸 ₊ ࣪ ㅤ cw. nsfw ( 18 + ) afab, sub! reader. oral. face siting. mirror sex. angry sex ? occ ? ? alhaitham , mentions of death, implied fwb, song and world building credits to VIVINOS ! ♥︎ wk. 2k

the bangs of drums erupted through the stadium, opening a solemn melody that soon intertwined with the strums of a guitar and the keys of a piano. a pair of pet-humans ascended to the stage, one’s face frightened as the other stood unfazed. his gray hair hiding his closed eyes while his hands slid up the mic’s stand slowly. once his hands caressed the white microphone, his dull green eyes revealed themselves looking as solemn as the song.

The soggy darkness crouched down ..

Even if we shake our heads, it's always the same place.

unlike his peers, al haitham was forced to understand the truth about this world immediately. then again, dangling off the edge of a skyscraper from the hands of one of his guardian’s butler wasn't an ideal situation for a child anyway. his mind vividly reminds him at times, the wails of the other children who stood behind him, the cold gaze of the beastly alien, and the starry black sky that looked as if it was painted by the great anakt’s hand itself.

it was terrifying— yes, but over time he couldn't help looking back and being thankful for that stunt, for it had become his muse as much as it was his reminder.

soon after he had become his guardian’s prized possession. gifts, trinkets, secrets, he had them all. they were all fundamental for the endless experiments to groom him into the perfect pet-human, at the cost of never festering a personality of his own. it being important that al haitham’s only desire should be achieving greatness by winning alien stage for his beloved guardian.

so even if he knows what it means to be exhausted, he still wouldn't admit it. for he doesn't remember being taught to be so.

i can't reach you, so i imagine alone

you who shines, i stand next to you.

“people will come and go inside this garden. they’ll smile as much as they cry, just as much as they’ll laugh as much as they whine. watch them. find what makes them weak, and you will stand on top.”

the echo of his guardian’s teachings rewinded in his head as he observed his fellow classmates, all making friendships and rehearsing the songs with flowers in their hair. he inwardly grimaced seeing the truth in his words, a sour taste on his tongue as he watched everyone pass by burying his face back into the book he had took from the school’s library.

time passed slowly as he reread the same page over and over, 44 times to be exact. it was when he started the 45th loop that one of those frail flower crowns delicately descended on top of his head. it wasn't the weightless touch of the petals that woke him from the loop, but your mellifluous voice who wished to retrieve it.

so black, black as it can be.

the dark sea gets deeper as you approach, like a black, black sorrow. a story of such woe.

his eyes look toward you in the crowd, your eyes no longer have the same twinkle it had all those years ago. in fact— they seem to resemble his more now that you know the truth of your role. how saddening, the garden’s sunshine is on the verge of it’s supernova.

“at the end of this story, there's only a cold spot stained with blood and empty air.” al haitham sang, his eyes unmoving. he watched your worried gaze as he counted the whole measure of the instrumental. his traitorous mind already reminiscing the moment the two of you shared before the performance. a rendezvous between the two people no one would expect.

“you’re back.” the ash haired spoke through the crack of his room’s door, inspecting the obvious fake smile that you wore on your lips. “what happened? let me guess, dreams of hi—

your hands pressed against his lips, your eyes downcast as you shook your head. ah— that was too straightforward, let him try again. “i haven't heard from you since last time.” he corrected against your fingertips, gently grabbing your wrists to free himself and lead you inside.

“things came up.. i didn't know how to reach out.” you sighed, footsteps were soft as you made your way to sit on his bed. a small silence fell as he watched you from the door, noting the dainty black dress that you showed up in. a similar sigh fell from his lips, knowing what this was going to lead into.

where your eyes reach, where your fingertips brush, waiting for you endlessly.

turn the red light hourglass inside the black darkness—

“things always seem to come up with you.” al haitham spoke, turning his feet as he walked up in between your legs, looking down at your small figure. “it’s like you think i’m as naive as you darling.” his harsh words being sugarcoated by his gentle voice, not that he was trying to soften the blow. “what could've come up? polishing an unnamed grave? you and i both know that his body is still laying on that stage.”

your breath shook as you gripped his bottoms, “you speak as if i’m not allowed to grieve! i killed him, you know?!” you cried out hoarsely, balling your fist. “if i wasn't so naive and stupid he would be– we would be–”

“still separated.” al haitham finished, soon squatting down to level at your face. his emerald green eyes never seem to twinkle like they should’ve, instead they voraciously devoured the twinkle of others. “whether you knew or not, he would've got on that stage and died the same, for you.”

a choked sob escaped you, something that had become routine when the two of you spoke about this. his expression unfazed while his heart ached for you. but .. he wouldn't just pamper you— this feeling he had for you wanted to crush you to bits as much as he wanted to spoil you.

his fingers pushed you against the bed while you scrambled to rub your glossy cheeks as he climbed above you, looking up at him with venomous eyes. “apologize.”

al haitham tilted his head. “for telling the truth?”

your glare darkened as he caressed your cheeks in a firm hold, a knowing smirk on his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours. “fine fine, i’ll apologize… that’s why you're here anyway.” he sneered, before pressing a heated kiss on your lips. his tongue meeting yours passionately as his fingers tugged and untightened his tie when yours pawed at his shirt.

spending a long time with you.

your clothes were scattered around the floor as you dragged your soaked cunt against his nose, your hips not seeming to find a rhythm or pattern. “h..help me haithy.. please..!” you cried out, hands restricted with his black tie. it was a good look on you, he admits, it’d be even more perfect if he had something to blindfold you. fortunately, he believes forcing you to watch yourself wither at his touch from the mirror is good enough.

al haitham pressed his nose deeper into your clit, as his tongue plunged itself ruthlessly against your folds. his large hands circled your thighs and fixed your rhythm without a fuss, letting his tongue penetrate inside of you ruthlessly. your whines were immediately replaced with moans and broken whimpers, rutting yourself against him with nothing but your satisfaction in mind.

he wanted to laugh. what a toxic pair the two of you became, were you really the same person who gifted him that crown of daisies all those years ago? those same daisies you never noticed that he’d pressed into his most treasured bookmark, laying on the vanity table of the mirror you watched yourself in.

your body shook and progressively tensed against his touch, a hurt gasp leaving you as he lifted you from his face. “you're gonna kill me before the aliens have a chance to, baby. what a needy cunt you have.” he huffed, his eyes rolling at babbling whines that you let out before pressing you against his bulge– effectively shutting you up.

“what ar– haah?! ” you attempted to question, an adorable confused look present on your face as you watched him hook your tied hands over his head and grinded his erection into your bare cunt. “i’m not fucking you tonight.” al haitham spoke, hooking his thumb to your bottom lip, smearing your drool and lipgloss against it, messily. “raise your little boyfriend from the dead if you want dick.”

tears fell from your face while you whimpered and sniffled as he fucked you through his black slacks, grinding you down continuously his dick. he admired you with flushed cheeks and heavy breaths, a twinkle gleaming in his eyes unbeknownst to him. al haitham kissed upon your neck fondly, apologizing silently as you rode him till the sun had fallen. welcoming the night with you laying against his chest teary eyed and fast asleep, leaving him at the mercy of his own mind.

so black, black as it can be.

the dark sea gets deeper as you approach, like a black, black sorrow. a story of such woe.

alhaitham hadn't spared a glance at his competition this entire time. his eyes far, far away in the dark sea he couldn't reach, that dark sea of stars that had greeted him on that disquieting night had made it’s return once more. and all he could find himself wondering during his performance if it had come to finally swallow him full.

he allowed to backtrack to sing his next line as he looked back at you again, his hand unconsciously pointed towards you in the audience. granting permission the swell of emotions he stored away to be at full display while his voice cracked as if tears had finally graced his empty eyes, pouring everything into these last words.

to me you are .. to me, you are black sorrow.

you are my black sorrow.

the song slowly faded into a close as a gunshot rang from the distance, killing the person who had stood next to him. a pity, he thought with dull eyes, gazing down at the lifeless body. any trace of freed emotions vanishing as the alien soldiers collared him once more.

ah .. he’s exhausted.

#౨᭪ 、𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 !#genshin smut #alhaitham smut #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #alhaitham genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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neetily · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 2024 — Demon Whitney

— ✧ pairing: M!Whitney / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 10,467 — ✧ warnings: incubus demon, dubcon, mind break, degradation, breeding, creampie, aphrodisiac, bullying, name calling, multiple orgasms, blowjob, throatpie, floating sex, cervix fucking, claiming, dacryphilia, piercings — ✧ synopsis: he did warn you, after all. don't make a deal that you can't hold up, or you'll find yourself in some serious shit, slut.

— ✧ A/N: if you asked me why i struggled so much with this piece, i wouldn't be able to tell you why. i hope you're unable to see the difficulty i had when reading it, and i hope to god it all makes sense. im going insane. thank you for reading.

also, this entry to my kinktober list is perhaps the most 'lighthearted' of the bunch, so enjoy it while it lasts lmfao...

— ✧ kinktober masterlist

He knows your sordid type well enough by now, which will ultimately be your downfall.

Lonely, first and most of all. Like an abandoned little puppy kicked to the side of the road that is life, so easily forgotten about by your peers— which means that, for him, you’re effortless. Far too simple of a target for a demon of his calibre, of course, but beggars cannot be choosers in his line of work. He’s become well acquainted with that fact by now, given how long he's been night stalking after your kind.

Maybe you’re just weird, actually. Maybe that’s why you’re left sorely untouched yet, in which case it’d be your own fucking fault for not learning the rules of your community and fitting it by now; there are cues to social interaction, y’know? Or, perhaps there’s a more reasonable explanation as to why you’ve been left all alone and in his company… Like the fact that you’re into some fucked up shit, evident by the way he floats precariously in your dark and messy room, lights already dimmed for his absolute pleasure. That’s probably it, right? Nobody wants to be friends with a fucking freak who spends her free time combing through tomes of the dead, flicking through page after page to find the exact chapter bearing his name. A woman on an unholy mission; it’s understandable that others would brand you as an outcast given your penchant for, well… him.

Secondly, you’re desperate. In part because of how lonely you are, right? Clawing at your own throat for something, just a little bit of anything, really. You’re not so different from his usual clientele in that respect. He can already taste the hot hopelessness swirling in your empty heart, thick and gloopy like tar, and he can’t fucking wait to swallow it all up for you. But you were never free of sin in the first place, were you? The slight parting of your lips in sheer awe of his presence is promise enough, comparing him akin to a tall glass of water, aren’t you? He can’t blame you, a lifetime spent stranded in the middle of a desert pool is enough to make anyone desperate enough for a demon, grasping at every single straw that passes by you, just for a fucking chance at some human connection. It’s so funny how sad and pathetic you look right now, big puppy eyes begging up at him wordlessly; please, just a little bit of anything, even a closed fist would do. Pathetic little girl, fuck, his tight underwear is already tenting towards you at the mere thought of corrupting your wishes.

You should have never settled on him, don’t you know that he’s no good for you, darling?

But most of all, there’s only one true type of girl who’d even think to try and employ his services seriously enough to view him in person. Scanning through passages of bad handwriting, likely hours spent decoding and translating— all in the vain hope of meeting him... You’re quite simply a grade A fucking slut. Whether in practice or in heart doesn’t matter matter to him, it’s the same difference at the end of the day. But you, however, appear the be the latter. Fucking whore deep down, your already blushing body is a dead giveaway, just begging for a beating, ain’t she?

Poor thing, you probably don’t even understand why your tummy fills with heat upon his arrival, do you? Prickling arousal through your veins from his mere presence alone, about the only thing that you’ve done right tonight is listen to your body and sought out help.

It’s just a shame that you seek it from him, dummy.

Carefully, he remains floating in place before you. One leg hooked over the other, leaning back a little to take a proper look of your trembling frame— is that from fear? Or perhaps… excitement? He’d be happy with either option, really, because you’re a real pretty one. For a fucking loser, anyway. And your room ain't half bad; he’s fucked mortals in much more disgusting places before— he still remembers the countless basement dwellings he’s regrettably fucked in, ugh… But you, you vile little creature, knew he’d want better, didn't you? A side smirk tugs on his lips at the way you gulp at his half lidded gaze, like a lamb put up for the slaughter. Don’t wanna bite first? You have thought this through though, haven’t you? Summoning a demon, let alone one borne out of lust, is no easy task. One as strong as him, too. A swift glance down under him shows your perfected circle, each point and curve of it meticulously painted in the hopes of a successful show. And, well, he can’t rightly let you down now, can he?

His arrow tipped tail swishes idly behind him, a low hum of approval crawling up his throat as he fixes his hair for you, keeping one eye hidden behind his blonde bangs. While he certainly views your kind as the lesser race, he’s not about to look as destitute as you currently appear— standards and all that. He’s got a reputation to keep up as the number one fucker; metaphorically and physically. And that reputation seems to extend to the living realm too, if your subdued reaction to his commanding appearance is anything to go by. Dumb little girl, his cock twitches for your attention at the way you already seem to know your place beneath him.

So much so that your voice is lost on you, right? He’s been through this a thousand times before— perhaps even millions of times. So many faces, names, backgrounds. But always the same experience at the end of the day. Is he that scary? Barely there clothing keeping your mind racing as his cock bulges behind the skimpy fabric, showcasing the smallest peek of his branding tattoo upon his pelvis. His chest is on full display for your wandering eyes too, pierced for your perverted mind to dwell on; look, he communicates wordlessly with you. And like a fucking dog, you listen. Watch, his tail swirls, and your eyes, too, spin with the movement. Even his cracked horn is attractive to you, right? Perfectly sized for your grabby hands— God he can’t wait to fucking ruin you. Destroy any chance of salvation you’ve got left, if you even had any to begin with given the way you eye fuck him from the floor.

He just adores little freaks like you.

But alas, his presence seems to have sapped all of your courage. Where was that stupidly honest girl who spent all that time attempting to summon him anyway? And why did you replace her with such a meek, pretty mutt, trembling before his very boots?

It’s clear that you don’t want to make the first move— it’s rarely the case with you humans, so he steals the opportunity away from you before your small little brain has a chance to catch up with itself. You’ve fucked up now, slut, is what he’d like to say. But he’s nothing if not a business man, and he’s learnt well enough by now that he must butter you up a little, as it were, first. Formalities and all that boring shit, ugh, perish the fucking thought.

Especially since his cock is already rock hard and raring to go, he can already tell what you want from a simple glance at the way your whole body shivers at the wet spot forming against his panties.

“So,” he starts, but then you instantly flinch. And he has to try really fucking hard to suppress a sadistic smile at the sight. You've got some real pretty lips, actually. He wonders how they’ll look when stretched around his throbbing cock, all puffy and wet with spit... He clears his throat, shakes his head, and then tries again. “So, what’s the deal?”

You’ve read the rules by now, surely. They’re contained in the texts you used to summon him, his gaze flickering to the tome by your side— opened right on his page. But fuck, the human who wrote it could have at least drawn him better, surely? Looks nothing like him! The illustration does very little to capture his hard worked for abs—hours upon hours of fucking will do that to ya—nor his well cared for hair. His horns appear to remain intact on the pages too… God, it’s old. He should ask someone to update it, if only to appropriately depict his meticulously cared for beauty.

But for as stunning, quite literally, as he is, he can practically see your dumb little head working overtime to catch up to your current predicament. Self imposed, mind you. Rule number one, he can freely deny your request if he so much as wants to. He hasn’t felt the need to do so with anyone yet, so he cant see that rule being an issue now, not with someone as depraved as you. Rule number two, once he accepts your request, he must see it through to the end. He’s always prided himself on being a man— or demon, rather, that follows through on his words, so you needn’t worry there. And rule number three, you must give something up to him in the trade. Traditionally, that’d be your soul, but there are other means to please him.

He’s got an inkling you’ve not got much else to present for his tastes, though. Lonely little girl, poor in all respects, aren’t you?

“Well..?” he prompts you when you only sheepishly gulp up at him. “Out with it, mortal,” he spits the title as if it pains him to even say it, puffing his fringe from his face in feigned annoyance. It's a mere show and dance, but he figures you might appreciate it from the way you wriggle in place. “What’s the deal?”

“Um…” God, you even sound like a fucking loser. Just that one single syllable and he’s already rolling his eyes at you, though his cock nonetheless jumps at the sound of your hesitation. Stuttering and tripping all over your thoughts; haven’t you thought this through enough already? Lonely little girl, need to summon a whole ass incubus to quell the fire in your tummy? Got no humans who wanna touch you the way you need? Fucking pathetic, how utterly terrible for you, it’s laughable.

Fucking hot is what it is. Especially when you mumble a stupid little: “Y-Y’know… the usual…”

And fuck, he can’t deny the way his cock fucking throbs to life any longer at how stupidly desperate you are. Your voice is utterly dripping in loneliness, a needy plead of understanding. Of course, he does understand you. And fucking well at that, just like all of the other useless saps he’s had the misfortune of serving. But there’s a hint of something sweeter in your voice, too. A little taste of kinship, perhaps?

He can’t wait to fuck it out of you, whatever it is. Would that he could reach his fist down your throat to grab it all for himself right now, but you humans are soft and squishy and not built for such horrid actions, right?

“What’s that?” he sneers back at you, obvious in his false distaste of you. “Didn’t quite hear ya, c’mon. Speak up, human.”

He’s only giving you a taste of what's to come, he reasons with himself. You better get used to it, and soon too, if you’re ever to explore the side of you that you’ve yet to embrace. And he’s always enjoyed playing with his food, teasing with you as his cock dribbles precum against the barely there clothing he’s opted to wear tonight, flirting with his tail as it swings back and forth behind him. He had a funny feeling he’d be meeting some idiot like you tonight, so he tried his best to look the part.

“I— um, y’know… s-sex, in exchange for…”

A few more empty seconds pass, and he lets out a telling heavy sigh at your reluctance to voice exactly what you want. He hopes you aren’t this bland in bed, too. Lest he forgets that it’s often the quiet ones who are the real nasty freaks, right? Biting down on his bottom lip briefly to still his expectant heart.

“Your soul, right?” he finishes your sentence for you, snickering to himself at the way you hang your head low before nodding, as if he was the kind of company to act prude in front of. Fucking idiot.

“But,” Oh? The dummy actually has some sort of confidence? Enough to speak up with a question? His cock oozes some more, see, I was right about her. “What do you plan on doing with it? M-My soul, I mean? I wanna know before, um...”

He clicks his tongue idly. Such a let down, and yet still, lust pools in his tummy for you. He’s sure that you, too, can feel the tingles travel down to your clit. Is that why you're having difficulty talking right now? Can't catch your breath? “Whatever I want.” He answers you plain and simple, because it's true. It'd be his, you wouldn't even think about worrying over such a stupid question by the time he's done with you, so what does it matter if he answers you honestly now?

“Right, but I mean… what will you actually do with it…?”

He pauses for a moment in faux thought, then promptly follows the action up with more meaningless platitudes in the form of an absent yawn and stretch. Like he’d rather be anywhere else than right here, in your dimly lit bedroom, feasting upon your shivering body with a trembling cock and excitement swelling in his chest. “Who cares for the details, my sweet?” he internally gags at the false show he must preform before getting you under him, but nonetheless keeps you hooked on his sugary sweet lies, because he's an expert in his field. “All that matters is that I accept your request, which is what you wanted, right?”

It’s fun at least getting to watch your lagging expressions catch up, a bubbled quirk of your lips causing his chest to tighten with agitation— you’re fucking gagging for it, aren’t you? Nodding so coyly, like he’s putting words in your mouth, which he’d never; it’s against the rules of his existence. Though even if you play shy with him, he’s well aware of the darkness tainting your soul, he can almost taste the depravity in your every gasp and sigh. You just need help setting it all free, right? And, well, you can call him biased all day if you want— but he just knows that he’s the best damn demon out there to help unlock your deepest fantasies, to provide you with the lewd affection your heart oh so eagerly desires.

Losers like you always do desire, that is. Deeply, in his experience.

A tut automatically rolls off his tongue at your degenerate display, though hidden behind layers of put on shyness, he can see right through you. And he’s certainly not much better himself, he’s merely more honest. He can’t exactly afford not to be, what with the way his cock already demands your attention, red hot and angry under his panties, rubbing nicely against the soft fabric to leave him cooing for more. He clears his throat to rid the faux showmanship from his chest, letting his float drop with his heels clicking against your floorboards.

You’re so fucked, he muses to himself. Taking in the sight of your seated position by the chalked sigil on the floor, how small and soft you look down there. Humans are, always, much too soft for his liking. Unable to withstand his speed or stamina as well as his fellow kin can, but he rises up to the challenge of the glint in your eye with a puff of his chest.

It’s as hes standing right before you, tall and imposing with his fat cock pointed towards you—can you see his balls already from that angle? How fat and fucking full they are for you, the veins running along his cock just popping under your unknowingly sultry stare—it's there that he levels with you. Metaphorically speaking, because is he fuck physically dropping down to your debauched level, regardless of who he is. He’s not just cocky for the fun of it— though it is fucking fun, watching you grow smaller and smaller by the second as he inches closer, like your body intrinsically understands her place under him. But he’s got the skills and the stories to back his attitude up, to prove why he deserves to carry himself with such confidence, making sure you shake and shiver just a bit more out of apprehension before offering you a final warning.

But it’s not really a warning, not with how easily he grabs at you, swiftly forcing you to stand on two feet as his commanding presence demands of you. Wobbly knees and all, he struggles to stop the eye roll that begs to scold you at how eagerly you try to follow his instructions, whether you’re aware of it or not. It's only natural, given his lustful existence, that you'd want to adhere to him. It’s cute, you fucking predictable whore.

“Didn’t anybody teach ya not t’make deals that y’can’t hold up, slut?”

Venom spits from his tongue in the reprimand, his pointed tail swishing behind him in interest at the way you pleasantly shiver in his bullying hold, unable to speak up for yourself as he sneers down at your quivering bottom lip. And then, disgust tugs at his expression, boring dagger eyes against your woozy gaze back at him.

Of fucking course. Loser girls like you don't know what it's like to receive attention, right? Any kind, even his perversion, is good attention to you. Even if you don't understand why your tummy turns with butterflies upon his seedy inspection; look, he likes your tits! That’s enough, right? That makes you feel all squirmy in his hold, struggling to keep your composure at the way he eyes you up and down, as if sizing you up. It is, obviously, not even a fucking question. But he deeply enjoys the way you appear meek under his gaze, his presence seemingly already affecting you to the point of submission— dirty fucking mutt.

“You’re gross.” He barks at you, letting go of you without warning only to selfishly watch you fall back down onto your ass— there’s no need to treat such an awful girl like you, one who gets off on getting bullied into submission, with any kind of respect. That’d only work against his goals, right? No… lonely girls like you need mistreatment, because it’s all you’re fucking used to getting anyway. A cycle of abuse that’s led you straight to him, his cock drooling all over himself at the mere thought of your misfortune. Poor thing, you just don’t know any better! So here you are, scrambling to get back onto your knees at least as he tugs his explicit panties to the side to show you exactly what he thinks about whores like you. He can do nothing but take advantage of you, really, because it’s what your body is begging him for.

But for someone so fucking lame in every respect, you somehow manage to endear him with those big wide doe eyes and fluttering lashes staring back at his cock when it greets your line of sight. Adorning the tip is a little silver ball, pierced just for you, didn’t you know? Fat and wet, beads of precum already dripping from the metal and onto your floor with a light thud! from the way you practically drool over him already. Is his stink that strong?

He hasn’t even started subduing you with his pheromones yet, you fucking slut. Not on purpose, anyway. Maybe a little unknowingly, but it’s like he said— he can’t help himself when it comes to loser girls like you. Residing a soft spot in his heart for you in spite of his rough exterior; you’ll be so fun to toy with.

With a click of his fingers, a cigarette pops into his mouth, shortly followed by a flicker of flame between his index finger and thumb. He takes a long inhale of the stick, a moments breather to carefully watch your movements as your lips part and hot air fans across his demonic dick. Fuck, you must know what you’re doing to him, right? Barely exhaling any smoke before puffing away at his cigarette again in sheer sexual tension, and then he exhales the excess smoke across your face— a fair exchange, don’t you think? But he can’t stop himself from looking at those pouty lips. Pretty and puffy, so soft looking even from afar. It’s impossible not to want to fuck em, ruin them and make em all messy with his precum. The perfect lip gloss, don’t you think?

“C’mon then,” he prompts you nonchalantly, wagging his cock in your direction with his free hand while adopting a rather bored expression at your avid display, a smirk working its way to his lips at the thought that you probably have zero experience in this regard. So he helps, just a little. Just to get things moving for his own sake. Grabbing the base of his cock unceremoniously to tap his tip against your pouty lips, inevitably smearing copious amounts of precum across them to leave you all glossy and glazed, shit… His piercing looks so nice when pressed against your pout. “Get to work, slut.”

You huff a little, eyes crossed momentarily to watch another fat bead of pre dribble from his tip. Or are you eyeing up the silver adorning it? Wondering how it’ll feel when lodged far down your throat, further than you’ve ever felt before? “Aren’t you supposed to be working for—”

“Quit yer fuckin’ yappin’.” he scolds your question by taking the opportunity of your useless mumbles to instead shove his cock past your open lips, puffing away at his cigarette lazily as you sputter around his surprise intrusion. Sure enough, he’s here to service you, but he’s been called a selfish lover plenty times before. And he’s not about to change that for some fucking slut like you, a lowly human bossing him around? Fucking never. And besides, a little cock sucking is the least you could do for him, providing the experience he’s about to give you anyway.

But rather shockingly, you simply let him rest his tip upon your tongue without much resistance. Dribbling salty precum across your taste buds— not that you had much of a choice in the matter to begin with anyway, but it’s real nice to feel you relax around him immediately, enough so that his hips twitch further into you and his cock slips down your throat with ease. As much of it as you can fit in for a novice, anyway. You might have sucked a few cocks in your short lifetime; pity parties, no doubt. But you’re about to learn real fucking fast how to suck a cock well. Lucky you, you’ve got the best teacher for just that.

Without warning, he fish hooks your cheek. Devilish nails just barely digging in against the inside of your cheek, pulling your mouth further open for his gawking enjoyment. He leans back with the movement, towering above you to adore at half his cock down your throat. “Here,” he clicks down at you, blowing another trail of smoke against your face and likely down your throat for you to choke on. The snap of your cheek closing back around his cock causes him to hiss with unashamed excitement, trailing his nails against your scalp before grabbing at it. Rough and needy, he dribbles some more precum against your tongue— but with purpose now. “Give it a min.”

And true to his word, a minute is all it takes for him to feel your jaw slacken around his fat cock, precum laced with numbing; cause you’re a fucking baby, apparently, and need his help to suck a cock. But he’s too prideful to make this experience anything other than the best for you, if only to save his closely held reputation. He wonders if you can taste the metal adorning his tip, too?

“There ya go,” he praises you with a sickening smile, flashing his pearly white fangs as much of a threat as it is genuine joy from how easy it is to slip further down your tight throat now. “Much better, right? Slutty fucking throat, shit—”

He accidentally fucks a little too much of his cock inside all at once, coaxed into movement from how hard he throbs for your warm, wet little maw, and he has to drop his cigarette from his lips to hide a genuine moan behind his arm. The fuck— he’s never once felt so good so fast with any slut before, but the feeling of your squirmy tongue obediently wrapping around the underside of his cock as if on instinct fucking gets to him. Unfairly so, really, because he’s soon gripping at your hair even tighter, and yanking it back and forth; settling into a brutal pace from the get go. Far too mean for a slut in training like you, but he figures that if you already have pleasure shivers rolling down his spine just from throating his cock a little, you can handle further roughhousing. Must be his pierced tip, right? Cold metal to cool down the heat he fucks in and out of your throat, dripping precum right down your throat from how well he abuses you; fucking choke on it, slut.

His touch is as unjust as his thrusts down your dulled throat are, humping his hips against your cheeks with resounding slaps! against your chin with how wet with precum his balls are. Or is it spit? Drooling out from your wanton lips with his eager fucks, keeping your head pinned to his pelvis as he ruts into you with reckless abandon. Like his reputation means nothing to him the moment he watches your doe eyes roll back in impish desire and he can almost swear that he feels you smile against his rock hard cock. “Feelin’ good already, huh?” he mocks you, in spite of how much he’s acting up himself. Doing his best to save face in an effort to keep your submission by his side, but his dominance slips with every pass of his cock against your constricting throat. “Haven’t even touched ya yet, an’ you’re already gagging fr’more, aint’cha? Pathetic” he tries to laugh, but it comes out gasped and strained— embarrassing.

“You're fucking filthy,” he distracts you with more dirty words, fucking your face with a particularly cruel thrust to emphasis his explicit power over you. And you should be fucking thankful that he offered to numb your throat first with how fervently he chases the good feeling welling up in his tummy. Muscles all tight and taut, making sure you can’t escape his greedy fucks out of sheer need to stake his claim on you, to literally steal your breath away as his own. “You might look like a good girl, but fuck me,” he half laughs, cutting the sound of enjoyment off short so as to not reward you too much. That, and he has to exhale a huff of bliss from the way your numbed throat still yet squeezes tight around him with every dirty swallow you instinctively make around his tip. Like you enjoy having him violate you, using you for all your worth— that is to say, just your body. “Might look like a good girl, but y’were fucking made fr’takin’ cock, yeah?”

He knows a sinner when he sees one, and you sure looked so lonely, y’know? Creeping in the darkness of your own solitary room, awaiting the forbidden creature of lust to crawl into your lap like some dog to save you from the purity cast upon you by an unforgiving God. But, it’s even better to have his thoughts come true when he can feel how much sin you’re dripping with, staining you chin all shiny and sticky with the spit his fat cock throat fucks out of you, drooling on yourself in an eager display of want. He can already taste how desperate you are, gulping down around his cock without even knowing, because your body was made to serve, to please, and he’s not about to let the opportunity you’ve unfortunately presented to him tonight pass by.

By the end of tonight, he promises to make you his. Stupid slut, you should never have made a deal with him in the first place, because look at you now... All dewy eyed and fucked.

He could hump your mouth for hours on end, all day if he had the time, at least until it's sore. But he doesn't; or rather, he can’t right now. Because it’s downright embarrassing how close he is to cumming already, his cheeks flushed under your glazed gaze and jaw tight with barely contained restraint— not that it matters too much anyway; as an incubus, he could go on for eternity if he could be bothered to. No refractory period and what not. Load after load buried deep down in your every hole, fuck… he just knows that you’d enjoy that, especially given the fact that you brace your little human hands against the fat of his otherworldly thighs just to offer him the gentlest bite of your nails digging into his skin, like the fucking whore you’ve always been deep down inside.

He’ll thank you, maybe, someday, for seeking him to fuck her out of you.

But not anytime soon, for he’s far too enamoured by the way your tongue glides along his cock, leaving his tip sopping wet with lots of spit thanks to his incubus influence. Except, somehow better than he’s ever experience before. Like he’s finding out how everything is supposed to feel all over again, exploring that expert whore throat of yours with heavy weight behind his every thrust and a bite of his lip. You might be more sin than he is, he thinks to himself mid stroke, hips stuttering against your lips as he feels the way the tip of your tongue pokes against his slit, rolling his piercing around, and he’s fucking done for.

He immediately promises to get back at you, sooner rather than later.

“Fucking slut—” he briefly chokes on his words, unbelieving of the fact that ropes of hot seed now coat the inside of your mouth, dripping down your throat for you to gulp at when his hips refuse to let up on milking himself. His tone is as scathing as his cum is plenty, leaving you to struggle to take him for once tonight; though he hopes that it wont be the last. He does, however, carefully consider the way that you almost immediately swallow up as much of him as you can, and how that can’t solely be down to his influence on you. That isn't the naturally secreting aphrodisiacs doing, is it? “Harlot, God— fuckin’ take it then.”

He needn’t be so rude, but the way you look back at his harsh words and even meaner touch with hearts in your eyes is all the motivation he needs to continue. If you were seeking purity and kindness, you wouldn’t be swallowing every last drop of incubus cum, now would you? Laced with aphrodisiac, oops… Maybe he forgot to tell you about such details?

You’re a quick learner though, he’s saw as much. Letting his cock drop from your cum stained lips with a loud gulp of air, all sticky and white as a string keeps him connected to you, and he can practically see the confusion present on your stupid fucking face.

And like the demon he is, he takes advantage of your state of inebriation.

“More?” he rasps down at you, his heart racing at the mere prospect, cock still rock hard and an angry shade of red before your gasping mouth. “Y’want more already?” he says it with such feigned surprise, as if it were utterly inconceivable that a hole like you could want for anything but his cock rammed so deep into you that you forget your own name. An attempt to shame you from his holier than thou position, even if only because he’s much taller than you. In fairness, while he’s obviously (the most) part to blame for your sudden descension into demon-hood, clawing at his legs like a woman starved, voicelessly begging for just a little more, please, then we can be done—he knows it’s never just a little more—he thinks that he can’t carry all the burden of blame. Not when you look so fucking cute beneath him, pathetic and small, as you should be. Relying on him to take care of you, to show you how good you can really feel when no one else wanted to even think about touching a fucking loser like you. It’s your own fucking fault that you summoned a demon tonight, let alone one made in Lust’s image, and actually struck a deal with him. It’s your fault that your soft and squishy and pretty human body takes his abuse oh so well, a taunting coo escaping his lips at the way you softly nod back up at him, dumb and stupid, like it doesn't matter what he's saying, only that he's talking, and you want to listen.

It’s your own fucking fault that he can’t reign himself back in, not now, not after experiencing how well you suck cock after a little coaxing.

“Dummy.” He mocks you, adorning a mimicked pout at the way you’ve so easily been put under his spell. “Up,” he practically commands of you, adopting a snap authoritarian tone to combat his shivering spine. “On the bed, then.” He points to your lacking place of rest, following your raring steps with his own slow ones, cock bobbing between his legs with his constant erection. He can’t help it, you’re begrudgingly too cute to ignore, annoyance present in the way he shoves you into position as soon as he’s close enough to get his hands back on you. With his back resting against your bed headboard, and you pushed down to the end of the bed, he leers at the way your thighs rub together in anticipation, following your gaze down to his leaking cock front and centre. The silver ball atop it sparkling in your dim bedroom light, beckoning you forward as much as his curling finger and devious smirk does.

All it takes is a quick snap of his fingers to see you undressed, clothing falling from your body as if by magic. Demon perks or something. But fuck— he has to physically cover his mouth to hide his apparent shock, biting down on his tongue to quell the want to praise how pretty you are underneath it all.

He’s never quite met someone just like you before. How you clamber into position so easily, happily mumbling something—he couldn’t care less, truthfully, for the meaning behind your words. Only that you’re wearing such a dumb smile while hovering his rock hard cock—without a thought behind those pretty fluttering lashes. Fucked your throat so good, right? Not a single thought, no worries or anxieties… you just feel good, huh? Just as he'd internally promised you. Of course, he’s accepting of his part of the blame. It’s in his nature to seduce, tapping into his seedy essence to lull you into a state of perpetual arousal; or for as long as he sees fit, he’s sure he’s got other things that need tending to besides your pretty princess pussy today. But the innate neediness present in your actions, in the way you playfully bite your lip when ghosting your hole over his cock, letting your hands fall against his chest for stability; and worse yet, he allows you to dig your nails in again too. How you have his brows furrowing and hands automatically finding home on your hips, toying with your skin with little pokes and pinches— you’ve got him stuck, acting out of pure selfish need to tear you in two. Got him feeling a little dizzy with desire, as if this wasn’t his literal job and he hasn’t got all the experience in the world when it comes to wooing. Like you were fucking lying to him this whole time.

Which isn’t true, he knows. He has to help you stabilise your wobbly legs as you tuck them under yourself, straddling his waist like a newborn babe. You certainly aren’t as experienced as he is, but there’s something innately lewd about your being that he can’t even hope ignore. Cock straining under you, jerking in an automatic attempt to fill your hole.

Something that he wants to fuck into submission over, and over, and over again. Until you’re crying and begging for his mercy, because how fucking dare you get to him like this? Have him feeling like a fucking virgin all over again… It’s embarrassing, a humiliating clutch on his chest that he grits his teeth at in response just to bear the pain.

“Hurry up, slut,” he grabs hold of your waist tighter, showcasing his greater strength with such ease that even he’s a little surprised when you almost fall off his lap. “Don’t got all day.”

While he’s reprimanding you, he understands that ultimately, he’s the one in control. And he fucking bets that you wouldn’t have it any other way too, given how disgustingly lovesick you appear under his spell. Allowing him to manhandle you to his hearts content, a mix of sweet sighs and stupid babbles; he can just make out a repeat of please tumbling from your cock stained lips, and he’d hate to admit just how much he fucking loves hearing you beg for him out loud.

Which is strange, because he’s never felt the same way with any other unfortunate soul who just so happened upon him, intentionally or not. But hearing you completely stop breathing when the ball of his piercing runs along your slit, only to penetrate your cute little cunt a second later, is like music to his blushing ears.

Blushing ears? For fucks sake. His concentration is dwindling the longer he lets his tip catch against your entrance, simply seeping precum against your hole—not that you need it, mind you. Not with how your cunt simply drools over his cock already, you can thank the aphrodisiac for that. It's just that... He fears that if he were to move too much, he might do something he’d regret.

And he wouldn’t want to break his new favourite toy just after finding her, right?

But you mewl so gently, a soft sigh of some words, mumbled between gasps for air as he keeps you still on his cock. A little “Whitney…” escaping past your lips, promising to be your own undoing at the mere first syllable of his name.

It’s been a long fucking time since anyone has called him as such.

“Slut,” he reflexively scolds you, emphasising his frustration with how utterly and annoyingly perfect you feel when wrapped so tight around just his tip, as if you were the demon of lust, and he was your unwilling victim. “You’re such a fuckin’ slut,” his cock humps into you in one flick thrust, buried as deep as possible as soon as possible to leave you choking on his girth. You shouldn’t be letting him touch you like this, treating you as a mere pocket pussy as opposed to the human being that you really are, but he can’t deny how fucking good it feels to force his way into your tight heat, causing him to choke on his own words. “Fuck—” is all that escapes him, and try as he might to continue degrading you, the wind is knocked out of him from the perfect squeeze of your cunt, so warm and wet and fucking tight for his unnaturally fat cock, and he has to shake his head to rid the thoughts that you were made for him specifically.

Perish the thought of getting attached to your tight little cunt, he adopts a bruising grip of your waist to have you idly grind his cock, circling your hips atop his pelvis until he feels like he’s actually in control again, and not a heaving mess under you. Until he can catch his breath, and focus solely on how good your insides feel when squirming around him like that, his attention unable to choose between your scrunched up expression of pleasure as his tip humps against your cervix, or the way your cunt lips swallow his cock whole, leaving no trace of him behind.

Holy shit— There’s nothing quite like loser girl cunt, right? Needy, desperate, fucking whiny, loser girl cunt. Begging on the end of his cock while you sit atop his fat balls, once again full of cum just for you. All for you.

In reality, he knows that he’s the slut. It’s bred into him, soldered into his very DNA to fuck all the moves, including little shits like you who drive him up the fucking wall from how good you feel, dripping desperation down his cock as he lets you get used to the stretch he forces you to endure; he doesn’t want to break you yet, remember? There’s time yet to destroy this perfect little pussy, you should be fucking thankful that he’s playing nice tonight. Treating you with kindness he seldom shows with others— even if it irks him to do so.

And lest he forget his demonic ways, clicking his tongue at you once to criticise just how easy you are for him. Barely holding yourself upright on his cock as he swirls you around lazily, doing his best to keep up the dominating appearances in the face of your complete lack of such.

“Wanna see how demons do it?”

He’s not really asking you a question— he’s aware that you aren’t of the right mind to provide him a proper answer either. And even he, too, struggles to get the words out. Trembling with pleasure under you, unknowingly letting his hips roll into you just a little, a real meagre amount of friction to coax him into action. He’s as much a victim as you are at the moment. And he can’t stand that. So without waiting for your reply, he snaps his fingers at your side and strengthens his grip on your waist.

If he’s being honest, he can’t quite discern whether you’ve noticed the change of scenery before you or not, but your wobbly frame gives your body away at least. Levitating mid-air with his cock buried balls deep in your pretty pussy, floating on thin air— a small party trick at best, but there’s a part of him that wants to indulge in you. To really enjoy stealing the last remnants of innocence—if you even had any to begin with—away with one final heavy sigh. For he must steel himself for what’s to come, his heart thumping unusually at the way you flutter your lashes back down at him, pretty fucking loser, it’s a shame this life is wasted on such a good fucking fleshlight like you.

He’s never once wanted to ruin a human as much as he does with you. To utterly desecrate you would bring him so much joy, he figures. Steal your soul, remove you from all that you’ve ever known, and eat you alive. Over, and over, and over again. With varying tempos, different settings, fuck you into violation for all eternity and then some. Only then, he thinks, will he be satisfied.

Only then will your debt be paid to him, for ruining him for all else.

“Look at me,” his voice comes out all raspy, dripping with lust to immediately grab your hazy attention only for him to gawk at the dopey smile you flash his way. “Look at me while I fuck you, slut.” His hips pull down, leaving only the tip to remain inside of your cunt for you to whine loudly at. The loss of stuffing causing you to claw at his chest, a pleased hiss crawling up his throat for him to bite back with pitying laughter. You’re so fucking dumb already, with only one load of cum seeping in your tummy, his cock twitches at the mere imagined scene of how you’ll act when he fills your pretty pussy up with seed too, drowning you in his sweet aphrodisiac.

And though he has to physically tilt your chin in his direction, drinking in the sight of your shivering frame that his tail automatically curls around, it’s worth the fucking wait to witness the pure nothingness behind those pretty eyes. And they’re so teary too, of which he isn’t sure is caused by the lack of cock in your cunt, or the fear of having him ram it back into you… But he feels this burning desire well up in his tummy to produce some more anyway.

It only takes him a moment to disregard his thoughts and act purely on instinct alone, as God had intended of him. As he fucking should, finally.

Giving in to the way his tip leaks and stains your insides as his, he fucks his full fat cock back into your too tight little hole, humming contentedly at the way you instinctively arch your back all pretty and shit for him, moaning a broken string of sounds when he doesn’t let up from that first dirty thrust upwards. The sight of you struggling to take his girth and length even in spite of the additional aphrodisiac his precum continues to coat your insides with is so addictive, has him throwing even more weight behind his humps than he usually does, just to torture you that little bit more. Because you can take it, right? Because you’re now his slut, and his slut just loves to take his abuse so well, right? Body and mind, fucking you at such a pace that you’ve got no fucking choice other than to just take his brutal assault to your cunt, his tongue poking out in sheer concentration of how the effects of his aphrodisiac reap results in the tightest cunt he’s fucked yet— like you’re somehow made more susceptible to his charms or something— fuck, he can’t fucking focus on his thoughts when you’re mewling so pretty like that, dumb little baby with her tongue lolling out and pretty tits bouncing with his every heavy, claiming thrust. But you’re taking him so well, beyond his rather low expectations, anyway. And it’s distracting.

Though, it really doesn’t matter the reason behind how well your cunt sucks him off, because all that tumbles out of his dry and hoarse throat is a fucked out meagre “Tight fuck, ain’tcha?” his cheeks warming at the lacking dirty talk, but it’s not like he hears you complaining or anything. Quite the opposite, really. Leaning into his abusive touch, bruising your hips as he holds you in one place in the air, ducking and fucking his hips instead of making you move so as to leave you a drooling mess of a girl. So attractive to him, the way you can no longer form anything coherent, simple sounds of enjoyment and surprise escaping your puffy bitten lips from how often you chew on em in sheer pleasure. The complete lack of, well.. Anything going on in your head at the moment coaxes him into driving his hips into you harder, a little faster, as if begging for your attention some more. Look, it’s me that’s making you feel so good. It was worth it, right? Selling your soul for some cock, fucking idiot, such a good fucking lay, holy shit—

It’s been a while since he’s had a fuck as good as this.

But he’s nothing if not mean, watching the way you so clearly enjoy his thrusts, fucking into you with some inhuman speed or rhythm or tempo that you’re not used to— an attempt to convince you onto his side, and it’d be clear to anyone watching that it’s working. You are, however, a mere mutt to him. A sexy one at that, he’d admit only to himself. Pouting and huffing and sighing and moaning; he can find no other word to describe you other than perfect. Which is exactly why he has to be mean to you, to regain his hold over you.

So he stops. Ceasing all movement, no matter how much it physically pains him not to feel the wet suck of your insides attempting to keep him inside, bringing a thumb up to smooth over your hips, his cock throbbing with unadulterated want at the way tears bubble over your lash line to mark your cheeks a shade darker. Exactly, that’s the kind of power he wants to hold over you, forever and ever, so long as you exist. Nobody would blame him for keeping this pussy all to himself, surely.

And if they did, he wouldn’t care.

But before you have a chance to voice your concerns over his limited movement— because he still continues to hump against you. Fully sheathed in your little hole, and still yet he attempts to fuck deeper with barely there humps upwards. He doesn’t mean to, it’s just what your body does to him. Leaves his mind in a hot daze, swallowing thickly in the face of your whimpers for more, please, gimmie more—

He snorts laughter back at you, rolling his eyes in a faux show of boredom. If anything, he’s barely fucking holding on, digging his nails into your hips as a last ditch effort to restrain himself. It only earns him a pretty gasp from you though, which makes his situation all the more dire.

“S’your turn.” He pats your ass a couple of times, smirking up at you when you squeal excitedly in return; you humans are always so receptive to his touch, it’d be difficult to deny how cute it is to feel the way you squirm around on his cock to prepare yourself, one of his hands coming down to support one of your legs to make the act of bouncing mid-air a bit more tolerable. Though it should be easy, he chastises you internally. Weren’t you paying attention to how well he fucked you moments prior?

“Fuck me like y’need somethin’ from me, yeah?” he taunts you, voice low and seedy, leering at your misplaced determination as you brace yourself upon his body— though perhaps his words were a mistake…

Because he certainly wasn’t prepared for you to match his energy, enthusiastically lifting yourself up for a second or two only to allow yourself to fully drop the moment you’re given enough freedom to do so, hanging on to his every gasp and groan as his mind reels to catch up to his bodily reaction; fat cock just oozing fat beads of sticky precum into your squishy hole, leaving him dazed with the full feeling of how your cunt tries to suck him in deeper, how she twitches and squeezes so expertly around his cock— he can’t fucking stand you.

So he helps, just a small amount. You’d barely even notice the way he fucks up into you a little extra when you slam all the way down on his lap, one of his hands coming up to roam over your thighs, your tummy, pinching at every inch of skin he can reach to leave you just as tingly as you’re making him feel right now. His body positively vibrating with sexual gratification, cock trembling against every inch of your cunt; all the way up to your cervix with little kisses from his piercing. It’s almost impossible to get a hold of himself, tummy muscles tense to bear the brunt of your eager bounces, arms flexed under the weight of your exertion. And he can see the sweat collect on your forehead, body warming under his incubus ways, his lewd intent to swallow you whole— soul and all. Heating you up further with his nails raking up to your bouncing tits, taking an immediate liking to how soft they feel in his perverted paw— so much so that he just has to pinch at your nipple to make you whine like a bitch in heat, leaving him in shock and awe over how much he loves those sounds you’re making in response. He’ll teach you to enjoy pain soon enough, but it’s just as much fun getting to see you wince in the mix of hurt and comfort, unsure how to react when he rolls the bud between his fingers, tugging on your overly sensitive skin for his own personal enjoyment. It’s nice, isn’t it? It hurts though, doesn’t it?

Surely you must be close now, he bets. Given that he had neglected to let you cum earlier, he’s about ready to bust again himself, meaning that he might finally allow you some release, too. The ball of arousal in your tummy must be wound up so tight by now, especially since you frantically fuck yourself fucking stupid on his cock, providing him a silly amount of stimulation— enough to let him know that you’re gone. Far too gone to think reasonably now, focused solely on simply feeling good; which means that he has you exactly where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, though for selfish means only. He wants to keep feeling good too, it’s all he exists for, really. “Fuck, dont’cha want a little fuck trophy in your tummy, huh?”

A baby, of course, would not exist without his explicit intent. And he doesn’t intend on impregnating you— yet. But the addition of his hand that was holding your weight now moving to your tummy, rubbing the area above your womb so delicately in stark contrast to his otherwise rough treatment, seems to get you going with newfound vigour. Sat square on his cock, buried as deep as he can go in the hopes of his seed taking root, right? And it’s fucking hot to him, thinking about breeding you. Turning you into his little breeding bitch, fucking slut, you’d make the perfect little forever play thing, y’know?

And it seems you agree, pushing his hand harsher over your womb, heat spreads from his fingertips to privately mark you as his own. An instinct at best, a deep seated wish at worst. He opts not to think about it too much in the moment, far too focused on the way you grind your puffy cunt against his pelvis, as if attempting to find more cock to fuck into your greedy hole. Trying to match him?

Insatiable slut, he fucking loves it.

Despite everything that’s happened so far, form the way you must have spent so long summoning him— it’s not easy, he made it so. To how simple you were for him to seduce, a little cock sucking and you were like melted putty in the palm of his hands, or rather, on the end of his cock. All the way up to how well you ride him, like the flawless slut you’ve always been deep down inside, right? Humping his fat cock to your hearts content, hungry with your pretty bounces up and down, seeking his seed. In spite of it all, perhaps the final nail in the coffin of your devious deal is the way you desperately grab at his horns mid hump for more stability. That, in actuality, is what seals your deal for him. Renders him useless under you, a huffed growl crawling up his chest to scold your obscene action, whether you realise it or not; he’s sensitive there, especially when you tug on em so tightly, pretty pussy choking his cock almost as snugly, too.

It’s such a rash decision, how his hips start snapping up into you again, removing the option of choice from you with his sheer strength alone dictating the pace. Too fast for you to keep up with, turning you into a sobbing little fuck with the wet slap of his balls against you. Plump and so full for you, God, so fucking full again— he doesn’t think he’ll tire of you quickly. Which is a shame for you, honestly. He’s going to fuck you senseless, within an inch of your life, beyond that which he normally attains with his victims.

“Stupid bitch—” he grabs at the fat of your thighs, swiftly tipping you over mid air so that he’s on top of you, fucking away at your squelchy little hole with fast fucks and heaved breaths. Taking the opportunity of your dumb confusion to slip his pointed tail between your legs to rub away at yout slippery little clit, begging with every choked moan and groan to have you cumming already; he can’t last too much longer now. Not with your tiny human hands still yet on his horns, tugging him closer, pulling on his weak spots so carelessly— it’s about time he returns the favour in kind, no? Flicking his tail with practiced precision against your overly sensitive clit, overstimulating you into attempting to crawl away from him, pushing him off as much as you can— but it’s no fucking use. This is exactly what you signed up for, slut. His hips don’t slow down despite your protests, not even when you start to cry from the intense waves of pleasure that soon rock through you, creaming his cock so well, all sticky and messy and loud for him as he keeps his attention on your clit, circling her so good, but it’s too much for you to handle, isn’t it? His voice comes out in broken laughter, caught off by a genuine whimper of appreciation for how tight your hole gets mid orgasm.

“My whore.”

And the fact that your mind is so numbed from cumming so good—best orgasm of your life he bets—as well as the additional help from his naturally secreting aphrodisiac, broken beyond repair from the way his cock fucks right up to your cervix over and over again, ignoring the fact that you’re shaking in his bruising hold of your body, focused solely on making you feel how upset he is with your display tonight, how he intends to make you his— it culminates in perhaps the best orgasm of his life too. Chest tightening, tail straightening, eyes rolling with his head thrown back, nails digging into the fat of your tummy; fat ropes of seed are sure to follow. Heavy and milky, sticking to your insides with insidious intent, filling you so full of his demon stink that not a single soul alive or dead would even think about approaching you, let alone touching you.

But he’s not done there. He allows you the absolute pleasure of having him milk his fat cock inside of you, until you’re so full of cum that it dribbles out around his girth and drops down to the ruffled sheets below. It’s fine, you won’t be washing them any time soon. And besides, it’s fucking hot getting to watch you squirm on the puddle of white as he unceremoniously drops you back down onto the bed, your chest heaving for air as you smack down to the centre of the bed, bright blushing cheeks shooting arrows into his dead heart.

If it was fate that he was to meet you tonight, then surely fate has decided to damn you too, right? Left you pliant and unaware, submissively offering yourself up to him with your legs spreading on instinct as he gently lowers himself too to match your level. Fate has always been so cruel, hasn’t she? Ever unkind, unfair in the way he instantly pounces back upon you, pinning your wrists above your head as his cock bobs to your pleas for… Well, he can’t quite decipher exactly what you’re begging for. Only that the fat tears that roll down your cheeks turn him on more than anything before, and he needs to fuck some more of em outta ya.

He bets your cunt is all sore from his abuse by now too, huh? Red and puffy, he strokes a finger up and down once before dipping into your sopping wet hole, knuckle deep from how thoroughly he’s fucked you wide open, split you in two on his cock— “Promise,” he almost whines for you, but you thankfully aren’t aware enough to pick up on his desperation. “Promise t’make y’feel good for the rest of your sad little life.” He smiles through his words, face scrunched up in shock and awe at the way you look so pretty when getting ruined from the inside out.

Finger fucking you at the same pace as his thrusts, he’s being all too mean to you, he knows. But you can’t blame him for chasing that high of your cries, fuck, he could probably cum on the spot just from watching you helplessly endure his assault, sniffling and huffing sobs as he buries his finger knuckle deep before introducing another. Curling them at the tail end of his fucks, a dirty chuckle slipping past his lips.

“All mine now,” and he’s being truthful. You traded your soul for this, yeah? A life of solitude and cock, left hungry for his scornful touch, body forever left begging for his abuse. “All fuckin’ mine,” he promises you, for there’s no escaping his strength now that he’s had a taste of your soft body. “If only y’weren’t so fucking cute, if only y’didn’t take abuse so well—”

He hadn’t intended on making you cum three times tonight, content enough simple to play with his newfound toy until he grew bored of your whimpers for more. But he’s nonetheless satisfied when your body struggles to cum again, cute cunt convulsing around the rough pads of his fingers as he helps you ride out another good feeling. Barking laughter down at you when you have trouble catching your breath— have you even been listening to him for the past while? Do you understand what the fuck you’ve done?

Other than destroy any chance of him being content with any other hole in future. Good fucking slut.

He regrets meeting you already.

#kinktober #kinktober2024 #kinktober 2024 #whitney the bully #whitney the bully smut #dol #dol smut #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity smut #whitney x reader #whitney🚬

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 3 months ago

Text

if you love me, prove it

regulus black x fem!reader

when Regulus Black proves to be emotionally unavailable, Y/N decides it's better to end their relationship. In order to get her back, Regulus has to face his own trauma and open up his heart to her.

warnings: angst

word count: 1,9k

requests are open!

When Regulus saw you for the first time, he was smitten. Every time he saw your beautiful hair, heard your perfect voice.... He couldn't even stand to be in your presence, because your perfume smelt like heaven to him. In his dreams, that used to be haunted only by the traumas of his childhood, now, there you were, haunting him in a whole new manner. It scared him, yes. But for you... in that moment he first saw you, he decided he would do anything for you and he hated himself for having this weakness.

What a surprise it was to both of you when you asked him out in your fifth year. Your first date spent strolling around Hogsmeade wasn't the exact definition of a date - Regulus just couldn't figure out how to actually let you know that he liked you. All he knew about love was his now ruined bond with his brother Sirius and that all too twisted relationship with his own mother. He could express it in bits here and there; like when he helped Sirius heal his wounds when they were younger. But never anything more.

And when you were smiling at him so sweetly, he even felt anxious to return the smile. What was wrong with him? He spent years pining after you and when he was actually close to having you, he felt sick with worry.

"Why do you like me?" he asked you on that first date. Has he ever asked someone such a genuine question?

You gave him a perplexed look he couldn't decipher and one corner of your lips rose into a crooked grin. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

He thought about it, then. Yes, he wanted to tell you. Yes, I'm a coward. I'm a horrible person. But insted he just smiled and shook his head. "Nevermind."

And it worked for you for a while.

When you spent time together, just you two without anyone else nearby, Regulus tried to let you in and you were patient and proud of any progress you made in strengthening your whatever-kind-of bond-it-was. You told him of your childhood, of your siblings and your favourite memories from holidays spent oversees. And your openness ispired him so much - if you could, why couldn't he?

So he told you of his own childhood, of his abusive relationship with his parents, how they acted towards his pigheaded brother. How he was the one who helped patch Sirius up every single time and how he always hid his brother’s muggle stuff so their parents wouldn’t be even more angry.

Regulus was very vulnerable in the moments afterwards and very aware of the fact. But the tears welling in your eyes weakened him way more. But what could he do? He just sat there. There were no wounds to patch up. And apparently, that's all he knew how to do.

"I love you." you cried into his shoulder and he pulled you close. Was he doing this right? The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

But then the words actually reached him. For the first time in his life, he finally had those three little words aimed at him. All his life, all he ever wanted was to be loved and here it was, this precious little moment with the girl of his dreams being so vulnerable with him that his heart ached. The least he could do was do the same for you.

"I love you." he said and gently lifted your chin and kissed you on the lips. The kiss tasted sweet but salty from your tears.

"I see your worth, Regulus." your whispered into the kiss.

And he was, for the first time ever, home.

...

For a while you two were happy. For a while, you put up with being just his "friend" because Regulus insisted on keeping your relationship quiet. In private, you were everything to each other, but when in public, Regulus couldn't even look at you.

At first, you found it so romantic. Every time you were alone, you were so excited to hold him close. When you walked by him in the hallways, you could only admire him but that was enough. But was it really? None of your friends could know. And especially Sirius, with whom you sat at every meal. As far as you knew, noone had any suspicions, but sometimes you wished they did just so you could be cornered and get this secret off of your chest.

But you could live with it. What you couldn’t live with, though, were the secrets that Regulus kept from you since Christmas 2 months ago. Yes, you understood that spending time with his family wasn’t exactly something ejoyable for him, but that he kept it from you was killing you. You tried to ask but his dry answers – also obvious lies - were useless. Maybe that was the worst part – the lying that he was fine and the: “everything is okay“s.

And when you finally confronted him about it, Regulus just looked like he didn’t know what to say.

“Why are you lying to me, Reg?“ you whispered, staring into his dark eyes as if they could give you the answer.

“Y/N…“ he sighed and tried to reach for your hand. You put it inside your pocket instead and hurt flashed across his features.

“Stop it. I thought we were better than this. 8 months, Reg. 8 months we spent building that bridge of trust between us and you still shy away.“

He sighed, turned his face away from your searching gaze and ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Y/N. I’m just trying to keep you safe and unhurt-“

“But you are the one hurting me,“ your voice broke. “Your lies hurt me, the secrecy hurts me. Are you ashamed of me, is that it?“

“No! Of course not! I love you! What more could you possibly want? I gave you my heart, isn’t that enough?“ He looked as if he wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you until you understood his point.

“Not when you gave it to me in a locked chest and didn’t bother to give me the keys.“

“Y/N-“ he said desperately, searching for any signs of affection in your eyes. But you remained resolute.

“Sometimes, love isn’t enough, Reg.“ you said softly, as if explaining something to a toddler. “You’ve been subconciously sabotaging our relationship while calling it “keeping me safe“. Either I get all of you, or none of you, but I won’t continue playing the fool who is glad for any scraps of love you can provide. If you love me, prove it.“ you gave him a sad smile and tears shone in your eyes. “Come back when you’re ready to let me in.“

With that, you left him standing with one arm outstretched, as if with that move alone he could stop the time.

…

“Sooooo….“ Sirius said and finished his glass of butterbeer. “You and Y/N no longer a thing?“

Regulus froze. Repairing his relationship with his brother was the first thing that came to his mind that could help him become a better person. But at that moment, he was rethinking his decision.

“What?“

“You know,“ Sirius mumbled nonchalantly, “that girl of yours with whom you’ve been with like, hmm, for like over half a year? Something like that?“

“How do you know about that?“ Regulus asked sharply.

“Oh, little Reggie,“ Sirius sighed pitifully. “Everyone knows. I mean, knew. Even, like, McGonagall and Dumbledore.“

Everyone knew. Was he so blind to see it the whole time? He tried so hard to keep you safe, from people knowing that you were the one weakness that could kill him. And, as it turns out, everyone knew.

Regulus put his head in his hands and started crying.

…

The day before the beginning of the summer break, Regulus finally aproached you. To say you spent every day since your breakup waiting for him was an understatement.

“Heyy,“ he said nervously when you two met in the middle of a hallway. You smiled at him warmly.

He took you by the elbow and tugged you near the windows so you wouldn’t get in the way of the other students.

“I just- look, I know I messed up, but ever since, I’ve been trying to-“

“I know,“ you said softly. His nervous gaze moved from his shoes to your eyes. He raised one eyebrow imploringly.

“Sirius told me you’ve been keeping in touch.“

“Oh.“

“And he also told me what happened during the Christmas break; how he ran away from home and left you there. I’m sorry I didn’t understand why you didn’t want to talk about it-“

“No, I’m sorry that I lied about it.“

You two were silent for a while before you both started smiling.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. I wrote a letter for you.” Regulus blushed shily and fumbled for a bit before he took a letter from his backpack.

“You, Regulus Black, wrote me a letter?” you raised an eyebrow in surprise and Regulus just raised his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m just joking, Reg. Thank you, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

Your eyes met again and now you were both blushing.

“So…” he started but couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

“So I will read it on the train and when we arrive in London I will find you and say my goodbye.”

“Yeah, of course.”

It was time to get to the carriages so you stood on your toes and gave Regulus a soft kiss on the cheek before leaving him standing there like a statue. On the way to Hogsmeade, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

…

When you were sure you were left alone in your train cabin, you took the crumpled letter from your pocket and opened it. You smiled at Regulus’ neat handwriting.

My Y/N,

When I first saw you, I knew. I just did. And I’ve been hating myself for having that one and only weakness – you. My mother always told me that we cannot afford weaknesses. But what I didn’t get until a few weeks ago is that loving someone doesn’t make me vulnerable but stronger in some ways. It was just hard for me to understand the fundamentals of a relationship itself – I always appreciated your love but never actually accepted it, because I didn’t think I was worthy of you or your love. You gave me your heart so willingly and here I am, finally, offering mine on a golden platter, all of it – the pain and love and hate and happiness. And I hope that just once, all I am is enough.

Yours, Reg

You stared and stared at that perfect handwriting. And when the train stopped in King’s Cross station, you held the letter in your fist and ran out of the train, searching for that familiar face you loved.

Regulus was already anxiously waiting.

“Oh yes, all you are is enough for me.” You laughed and hugged him tightly and Regulus leaned his face in the crook of your neck.

“Will you introduce me to your parents?” was the only thing he said and there was a new spark in those beautiful eyes.

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x female reader #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you

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kittyoncescribbled · 1 month ago

Text

Check-Mate.

Summary: Mihawk thought he was too old to believe in silly things like love at first sight, but things change;

Word count: 2,453;

Rating/Content Warnings: PG-16, AFAB reader;

Author’s note: Hi, guys! This is my first time writing for Mihawk; he might be a little OOC, but I'm still trying to find my footing with him. Feedback would be deeply appreciated. Please reblog/like if you enjoy this!

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You stared down at your plate, trying not to look miserable.

Sanji had outdone himself once again and brought out a dinner that seemed more fit to a king — and you knew it, as you were now a fugitive princess who escaped an evil uncle who wanted to marry you off to any weak man who he could control and, by extension, keep his hold on the throne and power: more specifically, your power, as you had eaten a devil fruit and now has something similar to Midas’ touch. But looking down at the plate in front of you, you couldn't help but notice that it was beautiful, smelled delicious, and you were sure that it tasted heavenly… but it was different.

Not from most of the crew; your plate looked the exact same as the ones in front of Luffy, Usopp, or even Zoro. But Nami and Robin had plates adorned with flowers and beautifully placed garnishes in front of them. It was evident how much time, effort, and appreciation had gone into their presentations.

It was quite common at this point, and you took notice of it almost instantly. Sanji was the one who helped you escape after some of the servants in the castle tr, guiding you by the hand through the streets of your city — the streets you didn't know, as your uncle had kept you hiding inside the guarded walls of the castle since you were a young girl — and into the Thousand Sunny; you chose to go with the strawhats, and now there was a hefty bounty prize to whoever brought you back home alive.

And you couldn't help but fall head over heels for Sanji, the first person ever to show you kindness or to see you as a person, not just someone from the royal family or their entryway into fortune or power. And it was painful to see how differently he treated you when compared to the other girls on the crew or to any pretty woman from the islands you guys visited; you could never accuse Sanji of being rude or mean, but he just treated you the same way he treated the guys or Chopper, and you just sat there ruminating on why would that be — you weren't pretty enough, nice enough, feminine enough?

All of that went through your mind while you stared down at your plate, and you could see the looks from Nami, Usopp, and Robin; they all kind of knew how you felt about Sanji — not that you were able to hide it — and the sadness showing up in your eyes made them empathetic. But it's not like you had openly talked about it with them, so none of them felt comfortable asking you if you were okay.

“Sanji, why is YN's plate different?” Chopper asked sweetly. You felt the cook freeze on the spot and grabbed your fork and knife as if you didn't hear it. “What do you mean, Chopper?” “Well, Nami and Robin’s plates and drinks are always prettier and nicer because they're women, right? So why does Y/N get regular food like the rest of us?”

“It's okay, Chopper,” you said with a smile to the doctor. “It's fine. Sanji's cooking is the best with flowers or without, right?”

“Y-YN, m'sorry, let me take care of it and—” Sanji started, his face beet red, trying to get the plate back, but you grabbed his wrist, startling him. “Don't.”

Your tone was icy and harsh, as they had never heard before, and the shift in the room's atmosphere was noticeable; the tension could be cut with a knife. Embarrassed, you simply grabbed your plate and went back to your dorm, locking the door behind you.

It was now days later, and things were still weird between you and Sanji. Chopper had asked for your forgiveness, but you had repeatedly reassured him that there was nothing to be forgiven. You did your best to avoid Sanji and the others, choosing to spend most of your days on a little spot of the deck Franky had added some stuff for you: a chess table with magnetic pieces so they wouldn’t get knocked over by the constant movement of the boat and a telescope. You still did your chores and helped, but you chose to be in your quarters or play chess alone.

On that specific afternoon, you were doing laundry — the little laundry you had, as you were still a bit uncomfortable buying clothes for yourself, and your old clothes, all frilly lace and flowy dresses, weren’t fit for life in a pirate ship; Robin once chuckled and said that you, always wearing jeans and white button-ups, looked like a cartoon character and Nami had promised she’d take you out for a shopping spree on the next island with good shops — when a commotion started on the deck. Leaving your load of laundry behind, you grabbed your bow and ran to the deck.

Dracule Mihawk stood there like an exotic animal, and you, still holding your bow up, made your way until you were close to Robin. “So… there’s a Cross Guild member on our deck, and no one’s doing anything about it?”

“That’s Zoro’s mentor,” Robin explained with a small chuckle. “And he said there are things he needs to discuss with our captain.”

The small exchange between you and Robin caught Mihawk’s attention, and you froze in your place, unable to react under such an intense gaze. Lowering your weapon, you regained some of your spirit and stood straight, staring right back at his yellow eyes, not backing down when he made his way toward you.

“Your royal highness,” Mihawk said with a courtesy, and, out of habit more than anything else, you presented your hand, which he brought to his lips without ever breaking eye contact. In the corner of your eye, you could see Nami and Robin raising eyebrows and Zoro looking like he was about to combust, but none of that mattered. Luffy showed up on deck, and Mihawk slowly made his way to the captain. After a short exchange of words, Luffy guided the swordsman to somewhere where they could talk a bit more privately, and you relaxed, still next to Robin. From across the deck, Sanji stared at you fiercely and seemed to be biting his lips, but you simply turned your back and returned to your laundry.

Mihawk was far too old to believe in love at first sight, or at least that is what he thought.

He had his fair share of lovers throughout the years, but those were just flings; someone to scratch the itch, if you will. Nothing ever lasted for more than a couple of weeks, and he never bothered to make it last. He was quite content with that, as he very much enjoyed the silence and peace in his life, especially now that neither Zoro nor Perona were there to cause a stir, but he had felt intrigued by you ever since he had read about your escape on the paper; coincidentally he had matters to discuss with Luffy, so he could take a good look on your, and take a good look he did.

Even in regular clothing that seemed too plain for you, you still seemed regal — it was something in your posture and how you held your head high. If you thought he looked out of place as an exotic bird, Mihawk could say the same about you; he could read in your body language that you still felt out of your element — like when you were holding your bow, much more like someone used to hunt for sport than to be in the middle of battle shooting arrows at enemies. The pictures in the papers or wanted posters did you no justice, as they couldn’t capture the expression of longing and sadness in your eyes or the way you bit your lips, unsure of what to do next.

As much as Mihwak would have adored spending more time admiring you, he was there on business, so he excused himself and retreated to discuss some important topics with Luffy.

And even though he couldn't deny that he looked for you the same way a moth looked for a flame, Mihawk pushed the “love of first sight” idea to the back of his mind. Attraction, definitely; infatuation, maybe. But love?

That wasn’t a possibility.

He wasn't expecting to see you alone on deck when he was preparing to leave. Enjoying the sunshine, you sat in front of a game of chess, seemingly trying to understand what the next move would be. Without making a sound, Mihawk walked until he was standing behind you, and, without saying a word, he reached his arm and moved one of the white bishops.

Startled, you turned over on your chair and looked up at the swordsman. “That was the best next move. What to do next?” he asked, looking attentively into your eyes. You stuttered for a moment, eyes darting everywhere while trying to think of the right answer. “Come on, take your time, Your Royal Highness. There is no right or wrong answer here.” Mihawk said with a low chuckle while taking the seat directly in front of you and putting his sword down close to him.

“Yes, there is,” you retorted, holding your chin with one hand and tapping on the table with the other. “If I make the wrong move, that's a check. And there's no need to use titles here, please. Outside the realm, I'm not ‘royal highness’; I'm just Y/N.”

“As you wish, miss Y/L/N.” Mihawk felt very happy with himself when he saw a light blush creeping up your neck and ears. “But tell me, why would you be here by yourself?”

“My apologies, sir, but why are you sitting here, asking me this? You don't seem the type to enjoy small talk,” you asked uncertainly, not trying to be rude but genuinely intrigued.

“I am merely curious about you, miss Y/L/N. You're a runaway princess in a pirate ship with a crew famous for getting themselves in trouble. You are an interesting person, and I want to know more about you.” The tips of your ears turned into a brighter shade of red.

“Ah, there was a situation the other day. And I'm feeling a little embarrassed about it, so I’d much rather stay by myself.”

“Just… A situation?”

“Yeah, I’m not about to start sharing the owes of my pathetic love life with a man I don’t know,” she said with a bitter smile.

“Would it have something to do with the cook, who is over there looking like he wants to kick the lights out of me?” Y/N rolled her eyes and made her move on the chess board. “Just… ignore him. Whatever happened, it’s unimportant”.

Mihawk simply acquiesced and made his move on the chess board. Eventually, you two fell into a comfortable silence while playing. You kept your focus on the chess board, attentively studying and thinking about your next move, but Mihawk was studying you.

You were clearly not comfortable in your own skin yet; your clothes, as simple as they were, showed that you were not sure what style would suit you best or that you, under the thumb of your uncle from a young age, still had to figure out what clothes you liked best. Your hair, pulled back in a ponytail, probably reached your waist, but maybe you had no idea how to style it. You were someone being free for the first time in your life,

“Would you like to drink something? I wouldn’t get you the boat fuel that Zoro likes to drink, but I do have some red wine in my cabin,” she asked tentatively. Mihawk nodded and watched as she walked away, groaning internally as the blond cook took her place.

“What are you doing with Y/N?”

Mihawk stared down at the blond and tilted his head, feigning ignorance; you didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that had transpired between you and the cook, and he wasn’t one to be intrusive into others' personal lives. “Playing chess and having a glass of wine. Why?”

Sanji pressed his lips into a thin line, grabbing the chess board so hard his knuckles turned white. “You’re trying to flirt with her? Romance her? Get laid?”

“I am merely getting to know the lady. That’s all. She is quite a beautiful woman, though, and I believe that if something were to happen, she wouldn’t need to ask for permission from any of you. And I also believe this conversation is over,” Mihawk said with a voice smooth as silk, his hand gliding over his sword’s handle — a silent but powerful warning. Sanji looked in the direction of your steps, seeing you coming over with two glasses and a wine bottle.

He glanced at Mihawk, radiating rage, but got up and went back to the kitchen.

You took back your sit and poured over the wine for the both of you, completely ignoring Sanji and pretending you didn’t see him. With your wine glass in hand, you pulled your knee close to your chess and mulled over your next move. The two of you again fell under a silent spell, sipping on the wine you had brought out and waiting for the others' turn to be over. You tried your best not to stare but managed to steal a couple of glances at the warlord, still wondering why such a man would be spending his time at the deck of the Thousand Sunny, playing chess. It felt good to spend time with someone who didn’t look at you pitifully, though, and it had been a long time since you had a chess partner, so you weren’t going to complain.

“Ah! Check-mate!” you said, triumphant, your lips parting in a bright smile while you picked the king from Mihawk’s side of the chessboard.

“Well done, miss Y/L/N,” Mihawk had a gentle look and something on his lips that, to someone who knew him quite well, could be considered a small smile. “I do have to go; I am afraid I might have overextended your crew’s generosity by overstaying, but after my discussion with your captain, it is my understanding that you will have to stop by my island. It would be my pleasure to have a rematch.” Mihawk stood up and, again, reached for your hand.

“Of course, sir,” you said as he kissed your knuckles before grabbing his things and leaving.

Sanji watched all of this from afar, seething.

#mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #one piece fanfic #one piece #✍🏾 kitty writes

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